


[Artificial Existence Series] Witnessing : Tempestuous Pacific

by SlavaDe



Category: VMF Rossii
Genre: AU real world, Gen, Semi-Historical, Warship personification
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 103,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24736165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlavaDe/pseuds/SlavaDe
Summary: After the catastrophe that erased the once-largest state in the world off history from early 1990s onward, the easternmost fleet in Vladivostok managed to survive - but with many familiar faces had to sacrifice for such fate. Until 2010s rolls in, for a couple of decades they didn't feel there was any kind of hope to look forward to... is it changing?-----------------------------For character lore (real, both present and historical warships being turned into androids) and setting, please see:https://www.deviantart.com/colorlessocean/art/Artificial-Existence-Facts-Concepts-and-Androids-733056490https://www.deviantart.com/colorlessocean/art/Artificial-Existence-Facts-Setting-and-Structure-733057146Character spreadsheet for quick look up + basic appearance-----------------------------





	1. Activating : K-223

**Author's Note:**

> This fiction contains the mention of wars and terrible tragedies in real history during the 80s-90s. Mostly these are only mentioned as happening during the period chapters take place but not in explicit details. I'll include the wiki links to the mentioned events at the end of each chapter.
> 
> Also, I'd like to clarify about the opinions regarding neighboring countries of Russia possessed by a few OCs. Their opinions do not reflect my own stance, as the creator, toward these countries. These opinions were formed in them for various reasons according to what they experienced, many of which even among their fellow androids do not share the same opinion. Once again, please do not take these opinions seriously.  
> 
> 
> * * *

“There’s no anomaly detected within the system, power at 85%”

“The reactor runs smoothly, inorganic brain activated. Overriding the ‘sleep’ command.”

“K-223, awakening right now.”

Amidst those voices reporting process of pronounce an existence of yet another new warfare android, there was absolutely silence accompanying the first flutter of eyelids which concealed the hazel-colored lenses acting like the eyes of ‘fake human’ laying on top of the elevated metal platform. It was so unlike the process of ‘waking up’ among humans - as that muscular body laid obediently still despite gaining awareness of ‘his’ surroundings. Not a single part of the entire body shifted a degree, proving of excellent control... precisely what the ‘creators’ expected to see.

“You may raise up now, or speak... search the data in your brain how to do that.”

That voice instructing ‘him’ was feminine, not completely soft. There was a bit of harsh tone near the end. Blond locks of hair slide from one side to another as that young face resembling a man in early 20s raised up his head from lying flat on the uncomfortable solid surface. Yet, no word uttered about how uncomfortable it was... as he didn’t even know what ‘comfortable’ was like.

“Speak…” his voice was a slightly husky, somehow mismatched with his youthful outer appearance. “Is this how to do that... correct?”

“Very well, it seems you have no trouble speaking.” That lead female voice again. Still not moving his body more than what was above his shoulders, the subject of everyone’s attention in the lab rolled to observe a female figure among mostly men ‘creators’. She... was a blond woman, with eye-catching two distinctive colors in each of her eyes.

“Your name is K-223,” unexpectedly, her voice softened from how ‘K-223’ first heard it. On a closer inspection, the creature with ‘unhuman’ name noticed how she also appeared to be rather youthful like him. Rummaging through databank in his brain... her age range was supposed to be in early 20s? Taking a note on how intense his gaze set upon her, she questioned, “Is there something the data in your inorganic brain doesn’t seem to offer a clear answer? Don’t worry... go ahead and ask. That way it will also help us to optimize it to the best of our ability to aid you in the upcoming life outside.”

“Outside... life…?” With how programming commanded, his method of searching for an answer was to look ‘inside himself’ firstly, contacting the databank whether it had an answer. Therefore, he knew he was ‘warfare android’ specifically ‘submarine type - powered by nuclear energy’ and his task was to ‘carrying and operating submarine-launched ballistic nuclear missiles’. The ‘outside life’ question though... turned up with a rather empty answer as ‘beyond Sevmash, Severodvinsk’. “Where... is that exactly?”

Crossing what distance straddled between them, the woman reached to touch the side of his head ever so gently. The sensation of her touch was new to him... but the cold, lifeless touch of artificial skin surface was nothing new to ‘Zinaida’.

“We have no precise answer to you for now. It depends on the Navy top brasses to decide where to deploy you. You could be as near as Murmansk... or far away thousands of kilometers eastward in Kamchatka. Sevmash... Severodvinsk is where we are right now. This is your ‘home’, K-223.”

Sevmash was a major shipyard located in the closed military settlement of Severodvinsk situated on the mouth of Northern Dvina River where it flowed into White Sea. Along with the adjoining ‘Zvyozdochka’ repair facility, made up a large military industrial complex which employed thousands of people. Across the shore of Severodvinsk up north of the White Sea was the Arctic Ocean, comprising enormous natural border of the USSR - the state K-223 was meant to serve in its powerful naval armed force. Bitterly cold weather was typical in this northwest region of the nation. And with what the vast space this industrial complex made up of, it only allowed the brutal winds from White Sea to swept through without losing strength.

Although he was already ‘awakened’, equivalent to ‘launching’ in the process of building conventional ships, it wasn’t time for him to go out yet. As his ‘Mother’, that was what Zinaida Ivanovna Beleshkina was to him, explained - he still needed more configurations to make sure he could be transferred to the military duty smoothly. By ‘configurations’ meant several experiments and optimization; practicing and testing his social skill to ensure it would be up par with ordinary humans, going out to the sea to practice launching those missiles which would become his main armament, building connections with fellow submarine androids who also had yet to be commissioned to a fleet or veterans returning from active duty for various reasons, to name a few. K-223 was allowed to roam rather freely within the designated area which included waterfront toward the exit to the sea. However, the areas he wasn’t permitted to visit consisted of the closed facility where the ‘unfinished’ androids were in the middle of creation. By this, K-223 wouldn’t get a chance to see his supposed younger sibling from the same ‘Project 667BDR Kalmar’ until he, too, would pass the milestone of ‘awakening’ stage.

Among the submarine sub-type of warfare androids, an SSBN or strategic nuclear submarine like him was the largest. Other minor categories with the same sub-type included SSGN, those carrying cruise missiles with capability to either strike land target or even surface type warfare androids. SSG was the same as the previous, except using conventional power instead of nuclear. SSNs were usually known as the ‘bodyguards’, submarines existed purely for offensive purpose accompanying SSBNs in a task to guard them from enemy units. And lastly there were SSKs - the flexible smallest that either utilized as regular patrol or also guarding SSBNs if the need arise.

“You’ll find a number of them outside of the indoor facility,” she explained. “Get to know them, learn from them. They will tell you something about ‘life beyond Severodvinsk’. They are those who have already crossed the boundary into real human world.”

...But amidst the range of new experiences he needed to learn in preparation also included something that made little sense to him. For example, eating organic food.

“Ummm... from what I can search within my database, isn’t my source of energy supposed to be uranium-235 capsules?” puzzled, K-223 questioned when an employee of the shipyard brought him his first ‘human meal’ - a bowl of Ukha. “Why do I need to consume this?”

“It would defeat that purpose of giving you a humanoid form if the enemy can still identify you as ‘non-human’ with ease,” the employee cited the reason. “Of course with nuclear energy which only needs refueling once every five years, you do not have the same need as humans. But, as a tactic to conceal your real identity as ‘non-human’, we have invented a scheme that your kind need to ‘fake’ eating twice daily at least. So that at a glance your kind will be ‘passable’ as ordinary humans.”

“But…” he held the spoon in his grip, the sensation was extremely alien to him. “In my inorganic brain it says I have no digestive organs? Isn’t the food going to be spoiled inside me?”

“Liquid will be drawn out of food and purified to use in the process of cooling your reactor. Therefore soup is the main preference of food for the nuclear-powered type.”

The reluctant android still displayed his hesitation to put food in his oral cavity. “What about... these solid matters?” and the tip of metallic utensil poked at the other ingredients in the soup - potatoes, carrot, onion and a large piece of fish fillet.

“We will get to that point later. For now, just taste it,” impatience could be easily detected in the man around 50s. So the latest released unit of the project 667BDR readily complied. Stirring the clear broth without a clear idea of what to expect, the blond-haired android took a sip from his spoon. As soon as the flavorful liquid made contact with his tongue-shaped sensors, he was shaken by an inflow of data stream popping up within his cognitive system.

Overwhelmed by such first contact with high numbers of data incoming at once, he dropped the spoon back into the bowl with a splash. Hand clutching the lower part of his face, those brown-green lenses intently focused on what was in front him... but it wasn’t the food. What he saw... was the breaking down of elements detected in the food; flavor - sour, fishy, slightly savory… temperature - warm… chemical component - nothing outstandingly toxic or immediate dangerous was detected.

“Well?” the worker absentmindedly tapped a pen on his clipboard, which secured a report paper he needed to fill.

“Where... where do I even start? There are so many things coming in at once…” of course this was expected, the mortal human had heard it several times before in years of his job. “Just narrow down to the basics for now. Flavors?”

“Sour...? Fishy smell… several minerals can be detected within the liquid.”

“Forget that minerals part, it has nothing to do with flavor,” the man who didn’t look to be really enjoying his duty moved onto the next field needed to be filled. “Temperature?”

“...Warm. 45 degree celsius to be precise.”

“You know what... for a human, I’d kill for a sensor tongue like yours. Would save me tons of troubles from burning my mouth on coffee that is too hot to food poisoning…” while furiously jotting down the report, he mindlessly mumbled. It was the first time this newest unit of ‘squid’ clan heard the disadvantage of being mortal human. Once the scribbling stopped, gestured by the writing tool, a new instruction was given “Now take a bite on that fish.”

The android whose mental age possibly estimated to be something similar to a ten years old right now again complied.

“Freshwater fish... a northern pike to be exact. While it’s safe to eat, there is a trace of arsenic in the fish meat. Will pose a danger to health if you eat roughly five thousands of them.”

With a rather grim face, the aged employee of the shipyard nodded then issued the next move, “Alright, potato and carrot?”

Two more intakes of food followed before the young android reported, “The carrot is slightly under-cooked. A tinge of mercury registered in the carrot, not the amount which will cause illness in a single consumption. For potato... very faint trace of cadmium.”

“Honestly, K-223. Androids like you make me scared to even eat. Rapid industrialization without a proper method to deal with pollution that followed... it really comes back to hurt us.”

Next process was another perplexing one as the man pushed an empty glass toward the subject currently under his responsibility. “Just hold this glass in your hand like this,” he made an example for the artificial human to see, then let him mimic the action.

The experiment almost went well until K-223 enclosed his fingers around the cylinder shape made from fragile material, for the piercing, shattering noise echoed through the space they performed the testings. Quietly and quickly, those hazel-colored lenses looked down at the first taste of destruction he committed literally ‘by his own hand’. “I’m sorry. I... fail, isn’t it?”

Although with an annoyed expression on his wrinkled face, the man was fast to wave it off.

“No, that’s fine. As a warfare machine in humanoid shape with enhanced strength, this is to be expected. There has been NO android who doesn’t break his first glass. But I really hate the cleaning task that comes with this…”

...And by the conclusion of the testing, the android understood precisely why. In total, he broke 39 glasses before he could adjust the correct level of gripping.


	2. Family?

Even after meeting several other submarine androids, it wasn’t until a certain meeting that truly marked a great impression in K-223’s memory. Meeting someone who was the closest to being his ‘family’.

“Ah, hello! You’re the new one, aren’t you? From the Project 667BDR…” such a greeting was abundant in the first week he emerged from the closed facility after ‘awakening’. Both originated from other androids and some brave human personnel who didn’t find socializing with ‘non-human’ odd. For today though... it was yet another ‘kin’ - an older generation android who also ‘born’ in Sevmash.

“Good day, sir.” The younger android who was categorized into a sub-type known by the nickname ‘squid’ nodded to acknowledge the greeting. “Pardon my ignorance, sir. But…” unlike the older humanoid-shaped submarine in front of him, K-223 still lacked the ability to distinguish different projects of submarine androids. Hence he struggled to put the name of the project to the stranger who initiated a conversation with him solely by identifying the uniform.

“Drop the ‘Sir’ thing, youngster. You don’t address fellow androids with ‘Sir’ unless it’s your flagship.” This was what it required for him to ‘strengthen his social skill’. Conversation with those who were already commissioned and in duty would assist him in adjusting to the life of formal military realm. “And don’t worry, you’re young. No one should expect you to know every project of androids coming in and out of our home. I’m K-279 by the way, the ‘lead ship’ of project 667B.”

“Hearing the name of project his conversation partner belonged to resulted in K-223 impolitely gave him a long stare unconsciously.

“Right, I’m your ‘ancestor’ project,” a smile, like one of adult giving to his much younger relative, plastered on the face of the older android with short, fine brown hair and green-blue eyes. “Come on, sit down with me. Although that’s being said, I don’t feel you should call me ‘Uncle’ or ‘Grandfather’ for the fact that your project is an improved version of mine by two generations. Instead, I kind of consider the 667BD androids as more of cousins than ‘offspring’.”

Overwhelmed by how contradict the information K-279 just told him and the basic knowledge of ‘familial structure’ from his databank were, the blond-haired ‘squid’ obediently plopped himself down on the concrete pier a few hundred meters away from the exit to the White Sea. The older stranger leaned over to inspect the sparklingly new member of his ‘extended family’.

“You look somewhat dazed... something bothering you?”

“Um... sir--” and there he got a quick slap on his forearm as a warning, resulting in an echoing metallic sound. Green-blue colored lens gave him a hard look, “I said no ‘Sir’.”

Nervously... or so he believed that word described his mental state at that moment... the slightly taller frame gave another try, “I’m sorry. I guess... I’m just confused by what you said... about familial relationship thing. It clashes with what I can find in my databank.”

“Oh, that’s understandable. What they programmed into your database... was one for ‘humans’ but not androids like us. There are several details that differ, namely ‘blood tie’.” Pausing to watch if the ‘child’ next to him grasp at the logic, a half minute later the ‘lecture’ went on.

“We come into existence by being created as opposed to ‘born’, although they tend to use that word for security reason... so it won’t be easy to catch the clue that we’re not actual human. ‘Mother’... yes, Zinaida Ivanova Beleshkina is our foster mother figure to help us understand the familial structure of human.”

Second break of the information stream took place. The ‘ancestor’ carefully not to overly unloading too much information on his ‘descendant’ at once.

“Among ourselves, our most tangible direct ‘familial tie’ is ‘siblings’. That is, every member of the same project is considered siblings, born from the same parent - in our case, the same ‘scheme’. Therefore, physical resemblances outwardly is noticeable, just like how human siblings possess the same DNA to a various degree.” With incredible patience, the ‘firstborn’ of project 667B slowly clarified the difference between biological humans and ‘imitation of human’ like them.

While it took several trips ‘inside his head’ for the youngling to check with what information available in his own artificial brain, eventually he followed the teaching. “Then, do I resemble you and your siblings to some degree? Since the scheme of my project originated from yours?”

“Good question,” unexpectedly, the blond hair got ruffled playfully. “To some degree, correct. Yet you’re taller than me, and that’s part of the modification that put us apart. But like I hinted earlier... while you’re not my direct siblings... it’s like... we still hang on to some kind of tie. Since we don’t follow the structural rule of humans’ blood tie, it’s a bit complicated. So I’m related to your ‘parent’ or the scheme but the scheme is neither my sibling nor ‘offspring’ thus the order mess up from there. Usually, we settle at considering those ‘born’ from modified scheme of one’s project as ‘cousins’.”

“I see... I kinda get that... more or less,” uncertainty could be detected from the new kid’s response. “But, what about between complete different projects with no real connection? For example... perhaps yours and the project 941?”

“Humans have this thing... called ‘neighbor’ for people who... somehow originated from the same place close by? But our case is more unusual because... Mother. The Akula lot are going to acknowledge her as mother figure just like us... so what we are exactly, isn’t easy to tell. Children of same non-blood related parental figures among humans could be ‘adopted sibling’? ‘Half-siblings’? Bite me, it’s too confusing even for me. So just see them as ‘some kind of an extended family’ without actual physically relation is the closest I can think of.”

“Since the android who had a solid exposure of living among humans for more than a half decade himself looked to be indecisive on this subject, the blinking newbie sure had a much harder time. What counted for an extended family? Something like the ‘in-laws’ he could find in his databank?

Thus he decided it would be best to leave this subject. Not only for his mentor but also for the sake of his overworked inner system…

“Where did they assign you to---” again K-223 almost slipped and added ‘Sir’ at the end of his speech. Also known as ‘Murena’ along with the official designated project number, K-279 smirked lightly at how his ‘sea creature’ distant relative narrowly didn’t catch the ‘forbidden’ word. “Very well, keep yourself on guard and watch every action you do. That’s the way we SSBNs live.”

“As to your question, I’m based in the Northern Fleet, you know, Murmansk.” An arm under long sleeve black wetsuit with a solid straight block of rusty red accent along the length extended to gesture the clashing sea not too far from them. “Once you exit to the White Sea in front of us, you’ll reach the Barents Sea, from there, turn west... the shoreline you’ll be seeing soon afterward is Murmansk. And farther west from that is... Norway. Northern is the biggest fleet of USSR.”

Listening to amount of details the older android described his place of deployment, K-223 reluctantly continued their conversation, “I... I haven’t been informed yet where I’ll be deployed to..”

“Oh that? Don’t worry, even if you’re going to the Pacific Fleet in Kamchatka, you’ll spend months in the Northern Fleet before making transition. That’s how it proceeds.”

Another nod was given as the youngster processed more intake of explanation regarding real military environment. From what he had learned before through previous chats with other older ‘kins’, he could guess the reason K-279 was here, “How long has it been since you have been commissioned, now that you’re back here for a repair?”

“It’s 1979 now... so roughly seven years? This is just midlife repair by the way, kid. Because how we operate, it’s the utmost importance to make sure our bodily structure can withstand the depth pressure. One faulty joint will lead to a leak, and even though we’re built to work underwater, water coming into contact with our internal system can kill us.”

“But this?" K-223 raised his forearm to show the wetsuit that covered every inch of their arms saved for from the wrists downward. “Isn’t this synthetic material wetsuit enough to keep water out?”

“The material looks secured right now, but after years in sea water, even it, too, will wear out.” As to emphasize his point, the brown-haired ‘man’ who appeared to be a little shorter than his conversation partner stretched his own arm toward the member of project 667BDR. True to what he said, although at first glance the garment looked normal, on closer inspection revealed how thin it was from years of worn condition and corrosion, unlike his own newly produced wetsuit with a different pattern of rusty red accent.

A holler of another male voice stole the new submarine android’s attention from prolonging the learning session, “K-223! Time for your fitting with the missiles silo!”

They both turned to detect the source of that shouting. It was a male worker in late 30s, wearing the typical mechanic suit seen around the shipyard with a clipboard gesturing for the younger android to come to him. Apologetically, the eyes of hazel colored lens looked at the smaller but more experienced android, as if asking for permission. Instead, K-279 just waved him off, “Go, boy. We’ll still see each other around for a long while. Soon you’ll be heading for your first training with the missiles... until then, you can pop up on me any time you see me outside.”

“In that case... please excuse me.” Those locks of blond hair swayed with a small bow, before the 181 centimeters tall frame would stand up, hastily caught up with the frame with flesh and blood impatiently await.

Distance increased between the two submarine androids of the relating design. Using his hand to smooth his brown hair blown by the northern wind, the ‘Murena’ murmured something to himself once he was alone again, “I’m likely going to stay ‘home’ longer than you, kid. With the rate of how they build new androids like you now, soon I’m going to become outdated. The project 941’s firstborn will be awakening in a year or two... and then there’s a priority to construct your class and commission to the fleet as fastest as possible. Repairing the old ones isn’t Sevmash’s priority at the moment.”

His gaze shifted toward a structure in the distance deep inside the territory of Sevmash. The project 941 ‘Akula’, being secretly created in that closed-door facility, rumored to be the strongest and biggest submarine androids within their nation... he would want to catch a glimpse of the lead ship of that magnificent project. This would make being stuck at home as an ‘inactive’ unit more bearable…


	3. Time in Severodvinsk Is Up

Months flew by and in November it became known where K-223 would be serving. He was to head to the Pacific Fleet - the farthest eastern corner of the USSR where, unfortunately, directly facing the operational area of their main enemy - the US Navy. Training lessons with missiles went through without a hitch, and at last the ‘blond squid’ was approved of the ‘combat ready’ status. As earlier instructed by the lead ship of project 667B, he was expected to arrive in the base of Northern Fleet in January 1980 before proceeding with the physical transfer to the Pacific Ocean in summer.

The closer K-223 had inched to the departure date, the less he saw his ‘Mother’.

Past several months he had learned enough from both humans and his fellow ‘non-human-with-human-body’ to gain awareness of the pressing responsibility his mother and other high-leveled personnel carried with the expectation from ‘central’. As the tenth android of project 667BDR, he had ‘grown up’ to a satisfactory level.

“I’m actually a bit... shocked? I guess that’s what humans would say? K-433’s creation only started four months after your ‘awakening’, yet they said he will be ready to achieve the ‘awakening’ this year? Crazy…”

“That’s why Mother’s schedule is so frantic, isn’t it? Not only they pressure for the first project 941, they also want my younger brothers out FAST.”

At the same concrete waterfront they met back in May, this moment far colder than their first encounter, the first Murena and the tenth Kalmar sat and talked about what was happening around their home. Yet, the atmosphere had completely changed; K-279 no longer had the urge to call K-223 ‘boy’, ‘kid’ or ‘youngster’. For this moment, he had already become a full-fledged combat unit equal to him. They had warmed up to each other so much it contradicted the temperature surrounding them nowadays.

“Your schedule for departure is within this week, if I heard it right?” It was Wednesday as they spoke. The younger android born in the latter half of 70s confirmed that statement. After a few silent seconds, the Murena born in early 70s spoke again, “I hope I’ll complete my repair soon enough to catch you in Murmansk. You know... for us who were assigned to the PF, once you leave Murmansk, it’s likely that you’ll never return to this region again. Only under special circumstance would that ever happen…”

“What about... repair? Won’t I get the chance to return home like you?” There was a hint of mild panic in K-223’s usually husky voice.

“No, silly. There’s also a similar facility in the Far East... Zvezda in Bolshoy Kamen if I remember correctly.” Once again that smirk graced the big brother of project 667B’s face. “Even though our nuclear energy is unlimited compared to conventional fuel, crossing six Arctic seas just for a repair doesn’t make sense.”

“What I want to remind you is, make sure you say goodbye to Mother before you leave. So with three days left, go now and find her. Do it before it’s too late.”

Heeding to the figure he closely considered as a substitute older sibling, the newly commissioned SSBN belonged to the Pacific Fleet agreed to that suggestion and strolled back inland toward the group of buildings housing various departments concerning the creation of submarine androids. Although thinking that he knew quite a lot comparing to his early days, he certainly didn’t anticipate it would be harder than what he calculated the possibilities inside his head.

“Excuse me, sir. Would you... happen to know or have any idea where… ’Mother’ could be?” Roaming across every corner he expected he could find her yielded no tangible result. His next move was relying on shipyard worker coming into his sight. The burly man in his 40s with usual mechanic suit branding Sevmash logo looked at the clipboard he carried with himself,“K-223? Well, too bad for you, nowadays Ms. Beleshkina mainly shuffles between two indoor facilities. One for your younger sibling and another for the project 941. She hardly steps out of those two labs at all.”

Understanding that reply conveyed how he was forbidden to see her since indoor facility where new androids were created was among the prohibited areas for androids who were already ‘operating’. Under safety procedure, transmission of various origins within the operating nuclear powered androids could interfere with measurement of data on the newly installed reactor which served as the ‘core’ for their kind. Hence it easily dawned to K-223 that... her schedule wasn’t going to miraculously become available in the next few days.

The android bowed slightly, “Thank you, sir. I apologize for interrupting you.”

A nod in acknowledgement sent the disappointed android on his separate way. But not many steps were taken when that frame cladding in a long sleeve form-fitting wetsuit and trousers with matching dark color stopped on his track again. Tilting his head upward, laying his sight on the intrigue harmony of steel and concrete woven together into a solid structure... he examined the environment and atmosphere of the place with occasional cranking metallic sounds of construction commencing within.

After thousands of kilometers of the journey to Kamchatka, would he ‘miss’ this ‘home’?

What made a certain place ‘home’ anyway?

“Hey, what is that all about!?”

Shouting came from K-279 as he observed a couple of figures in the water body in the middle of shipyard leading to the exit toward White Sea. One of them was the blond squid, another was a compact-sized tugboat android assisting the larger for his sea-going journey. Already fully equipped his missiles silo component and other necessary apparatus for his military duty, K-223 was swimming with his shoulders above the surface. Thus the yelling of a familiar voice caught his attention instantly. Asking his assistant to halt a short moment, the android of project 667BDR drew his concentration to the seemingly angry inquiry.

“You’re leaving? And don’t even come back to tell me, your br--- relative?”

“I thought we’re going to see each other again in Murmansk?” came a puzzled reply.

“Dumbass! It was neither promise nor concrete order! Just my wishful thinking!” Puff after puff of slightly warmer air materialized in the cold air along with the booming voice. Crossing his arms in mild irritation, the oldest ‘Murena’ shifted his focus to the water surface, ice... slowly generated due to the winter temperature. With his experience of being out there beyond Sevmash’, he knew ice was nothing short of a nuisance, especially during surface voyage. Easier than it should have been, he let the youngster off the hook, “Fine, we’ll see about that. At least you said goodbye to Mother.”

“No, I didn’t,” with that, renewed the shouting from the shore. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? What are you, ungrateful child?!”

Taking pity on the newly commissioned warfare type, the tugboat android stepped in to divert the wrath. “Don’t be ridiculous, K-279! Cut the poor boy some slacks... how is he supposed to go see Ms. Beleshkina when she spends most of her day in the labs nowadays? He would really be an ungrateful child if he broke the rules and invaded the lab to say goodbye to her!”

“That... really?” being effectively shut up, the veteran with real active duty experience stopped to muse about his own blind spot. Even with seven years in Navy, it never guaranteed that he’d know everything... there were so many ‘blind spots’ which humans intentionally left unfilled within androids’ databank of knowledge base.

“Sorry, kid. I didn’t know... Mother was never this busy when I left for my first journey to Murmansk.” At the same time, that couldn’t help pulling K-279’s thought to his own fate... how long before his repair would be completed when it was very clear that construction of new androids took precedence over all other issues. “Sure, don’t worry about it,” offered the younger squid meekly.

“You should hurry, ice condition out there... what’s it like today? Got the forecast at hand?”

Non-combat android checked on the piece of paper folded in his outer jacket pocket as he stood on top of equipment enable him to float on the surface, “Ice shouldn’t be much trouble, forecast says it would be thin enough not to cause him any problem.”

As if to offer more redemption for his initial misunderstanding, the brown-haired ‘Murena’ provided a piece of information about the ‘outside world’ to his departing acquaintance one last time.

“When you reach Murmansk, don’t be surprised that the surface ship type androids all have individual name, unlike us submarines who bear only ‘code number’. Have fun try to remember all the names out there, especially when there are more than one guy with the same first name!”

Then he waved the younger android a farewell gesture, to which the more innocence android replied, “I’ll see you in Murmansk, until then!”

They were never to see each other again as K-279 didn’t leave the domain under jurisdiction of Sevmash until 1982.


	4. Learning to Live in Kamchatka

Sound of gunshots broke the serenity of twilight in an October morning. Not knowing what to expect from his mere two months in after the transfer to the major peninsula on the shore of northwest Pacific, K-223 was immediately on alert. The book he was reading thrown down on the table amidst recreation room and the tenth ‘squid’ rushed to the window. The darkness outside still hadn’t been fully dispersed by sunlight, which at this time of the year came rather late, thus it was difficult to see clearly of the happening out there. Other submarine androids, both nuclear powered and conventional powered, no one seemed to be as alarming as he was. Some put down books as well, but their reactions were much slower and less of erratic distress stemming from apprehension like his.

“What was that? Why... gunshots?” during his seven months in the Northern Fleet, K-223 continued to expand his understanding of ‘the world outside of Severodvinsk’. One outstanding incident that he learned, frighteningly happened just less than five years prior to his commissioning was the major ruckus in the Baltic Fleet. Mutiny...something unthinkable during the period when rules and laws were highly secured during the era of USSR.

Undeniably, he admitted he feared for it. There were still so much of human nature and social structure that he didn’t comprehend.

“Calm down, newcomer. On second thought... well, you better get used to that.” A call from an older android, whom the blond Kalmar could now tell from his uniform belonged to the project 667B when he slid his eyes to the source, was extremely composed.

“Get used to…?” “Because you’re going to hear them a lot more in coming years, especially when spring arrives.”

“Медведь, (Bear)” came another response from a different oldie.

“Bear... right in the base??” disbelieved, the SSBN with blond hair tried to peek through the window again to catch even the smallest clue of what was going on outside. All his eyes could make out of the dominating darkness were just silhouettes of apartment blocks accommodating over a thousand of servicemen of the Pacific Fleet in the closed military settlement of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky-50 .

“They will hibernate soon, so they now search for anything, at all, that they can eat before retreating to dens. That... includes garbage in human settlements,” explained another colleague, this time of the conventional fuel powered type. “Bears will be shot if they pose threats to humans, especially children.”

All these information outputs were new to the adjusting android. He never saw such a thing happened in Murmansk during his stay even when it passed through spring as well.

“Listen to this, Kamchatka has the highest number of brown bears per square kilometer in the entire USSR. Of course elsewhere it’s different,” was the reasoning when he conveyed his worry. Well, that didn’t comfort him one bit. However, the obviously ‘localized’ earlier deployed androids looked to be unconcerned of his restlessness. “You’ll soon get used to it,” they said.

It was close to noon when the recently transferred squid left the building assigned to accommodate the fleet’s warfare androids. Along with him were three other submarines in humanoid form of different types - taking him on a walk to the shore on the other side of the narrow cape their base situated. Much of the geographical details needed to be taught to the fresh addition of their division. The quartet of male figures in varied height and build under the similarly black wetsuit and uniform trousers strolled to the northwest outskirt of the settlement, along the way picking up the news of the incident a few hours prior. Indeed, there was a bear shot a couple of streets down from living quarter of the ‘machines with legs’.

“Bears are only allowed to be shot if they’re a threat. Sometimes if it’s the easily spooked ones, they will just run away on their own and humans don’t need to shoot them.”

When K-223 expressed his initial suspect, about the concerned mutiny, they went quiet.

“...You know, that guy from the mutiny is actually here,” whispered one of the older trio.

“No way?!” the revelation shook the unaware blond squid. All the three ‘seniors’ gestured a physical signal for him to keep his volume down.

“He got transferred to Kamchatka about as soon as the higher-ups dealt with the issue. You may come across him someday... he’s stationing at a base closer to Petropavlovk-Kamchatskiy. But keep your mouth shut on this ordeal, he need not be reminded of it.”

Giving his words he’d comply to the suggestion, the mentors continued their lecture. “He wanted nothing to do with it, but some lower-ranked officer got his hands on Storozhevoy’s password. The whole mess was against his will - he didn’t even understand the political motive behind what he was forced to do through the use of password. That’s why... the central commanding needed an urgent overhaul of the entire password system and how it’s handled in the light of this event. In conclusion, you better thank him for the hardships he went through so the humans saw the flaw in this system. Now the password is changing every three months. And only the people of admiral rank know them.”

“In the end, no need to worry about mutiny. No one will dare repeating it so soon.”

Not to interrupt the repetition of their footsteps, a gesture of acknowledging was given from the member of quartet with the least understanding to their base’s location. Oh yes, the seniors found his expectations amusing when he said he envisioned Kamchatka to be ‘inferno on earth with abnormally high temperature from all the lava volcanoes spew’. It had already been two months since his arrival and he had yet to witness any actual eruption at all.

“Our base is quite special, you’ll grow to be quite an expert on stuffs those in other fleets never get to experience. Regrettably, that also means you sure have a lot to learn.” Just now, was advice from another nuclear-powered sub-type who had been here for five years.

“About the volcanoes... is that just rumor?”

“Nope, it’s true... but not as often as outsiders expect.” Turning his head slightly upward, he noticed how at the moment the view of what he intended to show was obscured by the hill which was the ‘backbone’ on the cape they were on. “Koryakskiy and Avanchinskiy... two of the big volcano chain you can see across the bay behind Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy still puffed smoke from time to time but nothing serious. I heard the last time Koryakskiy had what considers ‘major eruption’ was back in the 50s.”

“What about…” finger from the most inexperienced of the group pointed back to where they came from, where the horizon was also towering by another intimidating height.

“Vilyuchik? They said it’s already extinct - meaning it won’t erupt any more.”

Eventually the four figures rounded the corner of the north-westernmost tip of the cape and laid before their eyes was the scene of Avacha Bay, where on the other shore opposite to where they stood in the northward was the city of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy - the main administrative settlement of the entire peninsula. With the width of twenty kilometers in between, it was difficult to spot the city across the water body. However, in the farther distance, although fading from the remoteness of their location... K-223 could make out two summits stabbing into the sky.

“Well now, you see ‘em!” exclaimed another older colleague of a different project.

“No smoke today, see? Those two are pretty much our ‘friendly neighbors’ - so to say.” Then the smaller one of the two most talkative local guides nudged his task buddy, “Hey, don’t get carried away! Need to tell him about Yelizovo!”

Eyes of combining brown and green colors under blond eyebrows blinked at yet another name flung at him. “And... where is that, exactly?”

Also born in Sevmash several years ahead of the 667BDR, the larger frame of the hardworking duo explained using a location that he believed his younger distant family member understood. After all, he once spent some time to prepare for crossing the Arctic on his transition journey, too. “Remember Severomorsk-3?”

“I do... that’s the air base for Northern Fleet’s air support from the Air Force…”

“Good, Yelizovo is our PF’s counterpart. You can’t see it from here but the air base is located toward the foot of Koryakskiy... around thirty or forty kilometers from it that is. They are our actual ‘neighbors’.” And then the shorter frame but equally communicative chirped in, “They take responsibility over patrolling the sky here aside from aiding us in anti-submarine warfare training. Our commander... you know K-*** is the only one who’s in regular contact with that base. If there is anything suspicious, he’ll ask them to do a quick recon.”

“By ‘suspicious’... what could that be…?”

The answer he got from the more experienced member of the same division gave him a... something he believed similar to what humans called ‘a chill’. A sense of being finally comprehended of potential dangers around him.

“American spy planes. They sometimes fly from Alaska out there.”

“Not trying to scare you, kid, but I believe... as of today, you’re one of the targets they want to see.” Such realization shook K-223 while the older android continued, “Not just you actually, your older siblings who have arrived here earlier as well. They must have gotten hands on intel regarding the development of 667BDRM project and they try to figure out if you’re one of the newer modifications.”

Noticing how the blond newbie’s expression shifted to a more sobering tone at once, the noisiest one of the mentors reassured him of his safety, “Worry not, kid! Like we said, our guys at Yelizovo won’t let them to just waltz in and take information easily! Heck, they’re one aggressively protective bunch truthfully. Let the Americans come in and they’ll be up in the air in a minute and harass the intruder to no avail!!”

Casting his hazel-colored lenses to observe the volcanoes that appeared as fade bluish silhouettes tens of kilometers away for a period, the tenth squid still had more questioned to his ‘guides’.

“Then, where the ones that I heard from news about erupting?”

As if mirroring the gesture he did toward ‘Vilyuchik’, a hand was raised up and aimed up north. In spite of that, he couldn’t see anything more than those two the seniors just dubbed ‘friendly neighbors’.

“You won’t see them, Klyushev... Kizimen, Karymskiy, Tolbachik... they’re all hundreds of kilometers away. And again, there are some on the south, toward the tip to Kuril Islands.”

“Klyushev.. Kizi---” while K-223 was trying to memorize all the names he heard seconds ago, a hand heavily clasped on his shoulder. Of course no other than most quiet colleague who, like the other two, had become familiar with the local geography. “No need to strain your memory trying to remember all of them right now, kid. There are twenty-nine active volcanoes on this peninsula in total. Gradually you’ll become familiar with them.”

“In short, you won’t get a chance to observe every single eruption that makes it into news. In fact, we here hardly ever get to see the real action at all. And we surely don’t want to begin seeing it starting from Vilyuchik!”

The youngest was about to agree with his mentors when there was a sense of something unusual struck him. His footing... suddenly became a little wobbled, and he stumbled to keep his balance and his body upright. Eyes on the trio were widening as they at the same time started looking at their surrounding.

“...No way...” was a fainted groan from someone within the ‘oldies’.

And right then the main tremor stuck, they instinctively crouched down to keep themselves from the sudden uncontrollable loss of balance. “K-223! Sit! Quickly! Don’t try to stand!! It’s dangerous!!!”

Things happened too fast and totally caught him off guard. He didn’t even have the speed to command his body to do as instruct when he fell forward, crashing into dry bushes that shed all their foliage in anticipation for the coldest time of the year, flattened them completely.

“Damn it, HANG ON KID!! It’ll pass! Stay still!!”

And he did precisely just that. Held on to instructions of those more knowledgeable.

At last, the terrifying tremble came to an end. Inside his head... it told only twenty-five second had passed. To him though, it was as if the time was dragging on and that new sensation lasted far longer than that.

“You okay?! K-223, HEY!!” it was his fellow native of White Sea’s shore who rushed to help him up on his feet. Meanwhile, the other two directed their gaze to the hill near them, as if contemplating vital situation. Words he could hear them talked among themselves didn’t make sense to him even a little.

“I hate this... it’s time to gamble again which way is safer.”

“The hill... it looks steady enough? But who knows if there will be a second wave.”

“Stay here, safe from landslide then being washed by the tide, or getting up there and risk being brought down with landslide... fuck!” Frustration laced tightly in the voice booming from smallest, yet also most animated, android of the quartet.

“Was that…” whispered the fallen android who was still staggering to get back on his feet with the help of fellow Sevmash-born, so quietly as if afraid to disturb the exchange between the pair nearby.

“Yes... earthquake. A moderate to big one, actually.” 

Once made certain that his younger colleague was steady on the ground again, the veteran with pitch black hair turned to his comrades, “Don’t argue. The safety procedure usually requires us to stay clear of Tsunami because it could cause more damage than a landslide. We’ll just go up the hill as the original plan.”

“Man... I hope you’re right. It would suck so much if there’s no Tsunami but instead we get caught in landslide…”

That was one of the weirdest things K-223 had heard so far among new knowledge that had been pouring into his life since being out of Severodvinsk. Climbing up a hill or mountain and submarine type android just didn’t match. He was about to ask the reason behind their sudden change of a plan that made no sense to him when interruption materialized at lightning speed.

“Talk later, climb up the hill first!” Urgency was evident in the smaller veteran’s voice. And thus K-223 kept his mouth shut, his curiosity and panic to the minimum and scaled the hill along with the three older colleagues.

Communication didn’t resume again until they were all well above the ground. Judging from comparison to the multi-story buildings he saw close by, he’d said they climbed to the height of 20 meters above the shore. Surrounding by ‘dead trees’ without a single leaf gave him a strange view of the settlement below. But soon, the blond squid also noticed several townspeople climbed up the same hill they were on top. Looked like what his companion mentioned about ‘safety procedure’ was agreed by many people…

“What’s the connection between earthquake and climbing up the hill?” finally he asked., a motion indicated refusal then, an explanation followed, “Only when earthquake affect the coast area you’ll do this. If you were caught in an inland one, far from sea, then no - it doesn’t make sense to go up a hill for sure.”

“Earthquake itself is terrible enough but what we fear the most... is a giant wave resulted from earthquake - Tsunami.” added another.

“How big could it be? Isn’t staying like... on third floor of a building sufficient?”

“Nope, third floor wouldn’t survive fifteen meters, kid.”

Definitely not the answer he expected, in less than a second the green-brown lenses whipped to the direction of the city across the bay. With an increase in visual due to height, he could now catch a glimpse of the settlement on the horizon. “Oh no, the people there…”

“Don’t worry about them, newbie. They’re more accustomed to earthquakes for generations. They know what to do…” Then a voice from one of townspeople who also arrived to take refuge from possible threatening wave joined in, “There’s no announcement from the agency about Tsunami yet but it never hurts to take precaution, right? People there will think that same way, despite the city is not a military settlement like ours.”

“Thank you for kindly help educate our new addition, Ma’am.” the same senior android from Arctic region then proceeded, “We’re teaching him about local geography but it seems, without the map as a visual reference, it’s a little hard to him.”

The lady in her 40s nodded in understanding. “Once we get cleared for Tsunami, you go down there and do that. But destructive Tsunami isn’t very common, anyway. The last time there was actually one that devastating... in the 50’s I guess? I was still a teen living in Khabarovsk back then. But the earthquake originated right here at the fault,” she gestured eastward toward the Pacific Ocean. “The epicenter was just out there. I can’t remember about the magnitude of damage around here but it was exceptionally terrible in Severo-Kurilsk.”

An announcement from the PA system in the base came alive at that exact moment, informing that there was no risk of Tsunami, to the collective sigh of relief by a number of townspeople. Following right after was another announcement, “All submarine androids, report back to barrack immediately.”

Footsteps on their return trip was for more in a rush. Four humanoid-shaped war machines burst into their dorm’s entrance, with all eyes of their division on them. They were the last to return. And waiting along with the rest of their unit was their ‘Boss’ - the longest serving submarine android in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy-50 base.

Realizing how naïve he was in most situations and the tendency to slow others down, the newest android from Sevmash was quick to apologize. “Sir, I’m terribly sorry for holding everyone up.”

To which the ‘Boss’ just waved it off, “Don’t sweat it, little squid. Your safety is the most important. Besides, it’s not like you wander off on your own. Those three are responsible for you. You’re still new, no one should expect rigid responsibility on you yet.”

That last sentence kind of stung, he moved his head down... clearly the older members weren’t quite accepted him yet.

As if he could read thought inside his brand new subordinate, the android with light brown hair declared the reason, “There are a few things you have yet to experience. Those, are what we consider crucial to being fully accepted as part of our base. Today is just your first earthquake, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” that voice was tiny it was barely audible.

“Be happy you’ve eliminated one condition out of the pending list today... or maybe two.” To K-223’s surprise, the commander among submarine androids walked to the quartet and handed a small piece of paper to the blond squid. Those hazel-colored lenses intensely focused on that 2 by 2 inches paper, utterly perplexing what he needed to do with it while the rest of his group also received the similar object.

“Make your choice then put it in the box near the staircase, don’t forget to write down your number!”

Upon finishing barking the most mystified order the tenth squid had heard so far, their commander left to attend his tasks at the HQ building a few streets down. Amidst the usual clamoring of dozens of androids carrying out what they were ordered, stood the youngest member of the Kamchatka division in a daze. “What... what ‘Boss’... wants me to do? What choice he meant??”

“Well... here’s one of the initiations to our division you need to pass, kid.” his smallest mentor explained while folding his own answer. “It’s a game... but since money is involved, it wouldn’t be wrong to call gambling. Every time there’s an earthquake like one we just saw, everyone makes guess the magnitude of it. Whoever gets it right or closest to the official result from the disaster agency get the prize money.”

“Prize money of course comes from what everyone makes gamble on their guess. You need to make a minimum of 25 rubles though.” Added the mentor who spoke the fewest in comparison to other two while he strode to drop his guess in the assigned box.

The three mentors effectively kept silent on cluing their newbie of the measurement scale, insisting that they trusted in ‘the best way to learn is from mistake’ method…

...And thus, the newbie’s first guessing was way off, much to the oldies’ delight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \----The mutiny mentioned in this chapter refers to this event [back in 1975](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soviet_frigate_Storozhevoy).  
> 
> 
> \----Also introduced the famed PF's submarine android favorite pastime - 'guess the magnitude' gamble. At the time 1 Soviet Ruble = 1.5 USD.


	5. Fatal Mistake

  


While winter might be considered as gone by the locals, in reality the effect of the cold front lingered longer than what was said on the calendar. By April, the entire troops of humanoid machines could at last store the shovels and forgot about them. Although it still snowed now and then, blizzard season was completely over.

Two years of experiences going through the height of winter in Kamchatka during January trained the blond squid to be proficient at shoveling snow without complaint. There was no surprise at all if light snow in an evening turned into a full-blown blizzard by night and they were greeted by a massive wall of snow blocking their entrance by morning. If they wanted to go somewhere outside of their barrack, then they needed to dig their way out themselves. Human personnel also did just that; digging their own way out of their apartment porch to get to work or school... except for the humans, digging their cars from beneath 3-5 meters high snow pile was nothing uncommon either.

Soon, K-223 wouldn’t retain the status of ‘youngest’ Kalmar android anymore. In coinciding with his three years since transferring to Kamchatka, K-433 was going to make the transition journey from Severomorsk, where he spent two years under the Northern Fleet. Like any time there was a new face arriving to this base, the oldies were brainstorming how to welcome his younger brother. No longer a newbie, the last project 667BDR to make transfer was told to keep his mouth shut of anything he had learned since he first stepped on this land nine hours ahead of Murmansk. He would later get a chance to teach his younger brother, but first the seniors wanted to have their fun.

  


In June 1983, there was a long-distance phone call from Murmansk. Such isolated phone call outside of work was rather unusual, once discovered who was the caller, the latest reinforcement to the Pacific Fleet’s nuclear submarine division suppressed his desire to ask for a turn on conversation. It was only reasonable to leave the older project 667B androids talked to their eldest brother without acting like a nuisance.

On the other hand, that wasn’t quite what K-279 had in mind.

“Hey, K-366? Would you mind get lost for a little while?” voice originated from Severomorsk interrupted his own younger brother before the chat went too far. “I’m not paying the fee for a long-distance call out of my own pocket to hear your daily life. Get the newest squid kid in your base on phone.”

Upon this precise request, the oldest ‘Murena’ born in a Far East shipyard made a brief retort, “I guess that kid is more of a brother to you than me since he also ‘born’ where you did, hmmm?”

In spite of that, the ‘rejected’ simply covered the phone handset and called out the actual ‘target’.

“Come here, K-223! Your older brother wants to talk to you!”

Though there was no hostility in K-366’s voice, it was instead a bit playfully even, that statement certainly drew more attention than it should have been. Thus the center of center with legs simply ran up quickly to take the communication equipment while mouthing a faint ‘thank’. Because the chance of what he secretly wished for got handed at him unprepared, his hands were a bit clumsy with the handset.

“Sir? Just what did you tell your younger brother? He just summoned me to talk to you by saying ‘my older brother wants to talk to me’ - what’s up with that?”

“Boy, that’s more like my question. WHAT UP WITH THE ‘SIR’ THING, AGAIN? Have I not taught you well enough?” if he hadn’t known the owner of such menacing voice personally earlier, he would have thought the older android on the other end was genuinely mad at him.

“The price you need to pay for making our younger brother put me on spotlight involuntarily, sir.” Another jab with the ‘forbidden’ word finding its place in his speech. A grunt slipped from the handset before an ultimatum followed closely, “Fine, I guess it’s not worth it then if it will be my expense both for monetary value and dignity value. Sure thing, Do Svidaniya. And K-433 was excited to get to talk you…”

“Huh, what? Wait, wait!! Please don’t---”

“No more playing smart ass with me, got it, little brother?” the voice on the far west end trailed off and handset transferred, yet the blond squid could still hear his former mentor mumbled ‘I was too mellowed on him for sure. He dares joking back at me now that little rascal…’

What he heard next was a young, unfamiliar voice. “Hello? Older brother K-223?”

For the first time he got called ‘older brother’... it was such a foreign word to his hearing sensory, especially coupled with a gentle, higher-pitched voice than his. Helplessly, he wondered what did this younger sibling look like physically wise? “Right, good evening, K-433. I take it it’s only 9 in the morning there?”

Response from the other end took a tad too long, to the point the blond squid was curious if his younger brother also mused the very thing he just did? Soon it returned, that clear voice... this time with more pleasant tone.

“Yes, good morning from Severomorsk. Wow, it’s so exciting to know time zone difference is so real…”

“Lucky us we don’t need sleep like humans do, such a big difference would throw their life off track.” Regardless of enthusiasm to talk to his first younger brother in the same base at first, he quickly lost direction of how to prolong their conversation. Normally he’d love to tell K-433 about the local myths which were untrue... but that would go against the plan the older members of this base had in store for the next Kalmar. And he preferred not to ruin the surprise the twelve squid would go through like he did. “Ah... I guess this is going to be a little hard for you? After all, you stay in Northern Fleet longer than I did…”

“You’re so right. K-44, our youngest brother, is rather attached to me. He moaned that he doesn’t look forward to the day I will leave. But don’t worry about me. I’m ready.”

To him, he sensed the tone near the end was somewhat... wavering? Against what he detected, K-223 let it slip - there was no need to press his younger brother for it. It hit consciousness how this silence would only make his respected elder pay more fee than necessary. “So... let’s get to know each other to our heart content when you arrive? Doing so through phone probably going to make K-279 lose his entire salary.”

A burst of light laughter echoed from the other side. “True, true... and it would be horrible for him. I will... see you in two months?”

“Looking forward to it. Now can you get our benefactor back on phone?”

“Sure thing. Bye for now, older brother.”

Switched within a few seconds, the flat, unamused voice came back on, “Nice of you to be considerate for me after your insolence, little octopus.”

“You’re going to turn me into Takoyaki then?” when all he got in return was death silence, again he laughed. How would the older Murena even get it? That was a local joke only someone living rather close to Japan would understand. “I guess now you’re even madder at me? I’ll get your brother back on and you can ask him about that joke. K-366 was excited to talk to you, you know?”

“That may surprise you how we actually may not be as close as you’d think. After all, we’re the type of siblings that never see each other in real life before. K-366 was the eldest of the Komsomolsk-na-Amure line while I’m the same of the Sevmash line. Surely on the document we’re siblings, coming from the same project but well... this is more complicated than what I told you back in Severodvinsk.”

Well, that was a new information on him. However, K-279 didn’t appear to have the patience to reexamine this particular subject with his ‘pupil’. “Go ahead, get him on if he wants to chat with me. Next time I’ll make sure he’s the one paying for our conversation.” Wow, he could even sense a slight grudge in that verbal expression…

Covering the speaker half with his palm, the blond squid called out, “Sorry for interrupting your conversation but you can take the phone back now, K-366!”

  


  


After days passed in an agonizing pace, at last it was the final day of August. Summer was reaching its last stretch on the Kamchatka Peninsula and after a brief interval period of quick autumn, long winter was waiting ahead of the androids belonged to the submarine division of the USSR Pacific Fleet outside of Vladivostok. The entire base of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy-50 came alive with eagerness to welcome their newest addition after a long period.

From the latest contact with the Northern Fleet, K-433 left Murmansk on August 22nd, making it almost ten days since the twelve squid’ being out in the Arctic water travelling eastward. Making a prediction from their own experience for those who also made the transition from the Barents Sea before, just ten more days at most and K-433 should mark his first step on Kamchatka’s soil.

  


However, the world turned upside down for the thrilling submarine androids in less than twenty-four hours.

  


“Emergency! Order all the subs to get indoor now! Or at least don’t stay out in an open area!! We detect a spy aircraft from the US invading our airspace!!!”

When the commander among the sole android type with ability to operate underwater received contact from colleagues at the Yelizovo Base, this was sadly not the least he expected. The Americans never ceased to try to commit espionage mission on them. Swiftly, the commander issued an urgent order to comply with the news he received from their close air force comrades. 

There was quite a major commotion within the territory of the base, with androids seeking shelter in the nearest buildings. As luck had it, K-223 himself was lazily lounging inside the shared bedroom he lived with five more androids. So far, this bed assigned to him had served no purpose more being lounging furniture. One benefit of being a nuclear-powered type was how he didn’t need to ‘sleep’ to conserve fuel. Unlike the conventional fuel type who sometime had to shut down them system - mimicking ‘sleep’ in mortal human. 

Thus while not having to do anything extraordinary to follow the order, he was restless at the whole development. One of his roommates who was on a different floor returned to their room after hear the emergency, grumbling along the way, “Blast the Americans! They’re sure quick to take advantage snooping us right when we’re about to receive a new member!”

Now the mention of his younger sibling made the soon-no-longer-new squid anxious. Sliding his noticeable more muscular body than his roommate next to the window, he scanned the street five storeys down, where several of his comrades were rushing disorderly to return inside.

“These spy planes... how safe for a submarine to hide from them when we’re out at the sea?”

Knowing the background of the current event, the older submarine saw through instantly what weighed down his young roommate’s thinking process. Quickly, the android with short curly reddish brown hair reassured him.

“K-433 should be safe as long as he’s underwater. These spy planes are nothing like ASW ones. They’re not equipped with technology to detect movement underwater. They only have... cameras with high capability to zoom down to capture details. That’s why the guys in Yelizovo told us to get indoors.”

After a lengthy explanation, the blond Kalmar looked obviously relieved. Dropping his frame back on his bed with a big thud, his hand sought for the book he was to continue reading. “And the guys at Yelizovo are going to chase them, right? Guess we’ll just put our faith on them.”

His roommate dropped his body to sit on K-223’s bed as well, causing it to squeak tormentingly under additional weight. “Hey! Don’t break my bed!”

But that didn’t stop his roommate who leaned over to playfully wrestle with the bed owner’s for a short minute. It ended with his blond hair being completely disheveled from a vicious ruffle. 

“You’re no fun. You know too much now. We can’t trick you any longer…” 

“Oh, whatever.” retorted the tenth squid as he searched for the book he was reading to see if it survive any possible damage. “Well, I’m obliged to please you then, I guess? So how long this ‘curfew’ is going to last? Until they clear it that we’re safe to go out again?”

“Yeah, more or less. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours though. Boss will let us know when exactly.”

  


  


...The announcement they heard from their commander several hours afterward though... was nothing like they had expected.

  


With atypically grim face, the only android who had rightful authority to command over his fellow ‘kins’ rounded every member of his kind in the base at their barrack. His body language conveyed the grievously importance of the issue at hands. At least, one could tell from how his hands gave a deadly tight grip on a clipboard made of steel which he brought some documents with him.

“Earlier today... there was an unidentified aircraft intruding the restricted airspace around Kamchatka Peninsula. When I received the notification from Yelizovo at 7.30 in the morning... turns out, that aircraft wasn’t just entering the restricted airspace. It already flew past the entire peninsula.”

Intangible noise of numerous whispers materializing at once filled the mess hall where these warfare creations were gathering to hear the situation report. Something wasn’t right... and whatever mistake that was, it clearly aggravated the submarine leader.

In a strained voice as he tried to suppress his irritation, the announcement went on. “I don’t want to lay blames on our aircraft type colleagues. But apparently the Air Force messed up. At least, the humans are taking responsibility on that. A radar went out of order and they were expected to fix it but they didn’t. They would have detected it far before it reached the peninsula with that radar.”

Not even having to command his subordinates to cease their meaningless communication, the whispering died down on its own as it became clear of the magnitude of damaging effect and the burden their commander needed to carry as the leadership. Taking noticeably longer gap before declaring the consequence of that unforeseen incident, eventually... he relayed the worst news he would likely have to announce.

“By the time we barely took notice to hide, it was already way too late. Of course our fighter jet colleagues gave a chase. Then it was out of our responsible area thus transferred to the base in Sakhalin to take over. Apparently they decided the aircraft was enough of a threat, considering it flew through the middle of the peninsula, to warrant being shot down…”

“Oh, damn... the Americans are gonna be pissed.” Someone slipped out loud. Fortunately, the ‘Boss’ paid it no mind. After all, he knew ‘pissed’ wasn’t going to be enough to describe the reaction from their arch nemesis.

“Except... it was revealed later that the unidentified aircraft wasn’t a spy plane but a _**passenger plane**_.”

  


Suddenly it was so quiet they could all hear a pin drop.

  


Abruptly, their ‘boss’ , with a frustrating huff, broke the clipboard into half before throwing what was left of the once-solid piece of metal across to an isolated corner of the room. That precise action was shocking most of those who were newcomer within a few years back. They had only seen their leader as reasonable and patient individual up till this moment.

“Fuck those humans! They’re such incompetent creatures! Especially the idiot pilots on that plane!!! What the hell are wrong with them?! They didn’t learn a thing the last time they got downed in Kareliya??”

“Um... what is Boss talking about? Plane shot down in Kareliya…?” muttered the blond squid ever so faintly to a comrade next to him, who also happened to be ‘born’ at Sevmash Shipyard.

“That was before you awakened, K-223. It was in 1978, I think?” replied the older Severodvinsk native, in an equally low volume.

Composed his demeanor again, the commander of warfare androids force in the naval base in the vicinity of Vilyuchik Volcano looked at every member under his command intensely.

“Humans are doing their parts to mend the situation... or more like fabricating it. The politicians plan to deny any knowledge of the downing, insisting that the plane suffered an unknown accident on its own which resulted in crashing near Moneron Island. However, if bad comes to worse and the Americans discover the truth, we will be preparing for the state of war.”

  


Not one reaction through sound materialized. Although on the document they all were labeled as ‘warfare androids’, they weren’t particularly eager to jump into battle. At least, not over such absurd circumstance originated from the humans’ foolish mistake and the failure in communication. On contrary, refusing to obey an order wasn’t an option either. The second Moscow declared aggression on Washington, they would all head forward to the ocean, to complete their designated duty that earned them their existence to this world. Equally unenthusiastic was the aged submarine android with highest rank among their kind.

“Yeah, I share your opinion. It’s utterly stupid to start a war because of one unworthy passenger plane. This is certainly not the reason of war we exist for.”

Days and nights of nightmares were ahead of him from now on. The android who blended seamlessly among his juniors saved for his noticeably more advanced age in outwardly appearance signaled that the main objective of the assembly had concluded. Not a single figure swayed off the lines before he left a parting order, “Keep yourself prepared, we never know when the command for our missions will occur. No matter soon or late it might be, stay alert and keep yourself out of troubles. I want every one of us at full capability so not to embarrass our military district following the error of our air force counterpart.”

Following the last instruction, their commander departed, undoubtedly to his post, to stand ready for any command from the higher up in near future. As if a hornet nest was destroyed, the room erupted in a chaotic buzz. There was no coincidental most of the subject was the same - what future they were about to go through now? World War III... or would the humans able to work a way out to avert that destructive scenario?

“What is this…? Not when my little brother is coming. He’ll be like... arriving in the center of the war zone.”

Many of the fellow humanoid-shaped submarines halted their actions and turned to look at K-223, who mumbled that statement out loud. Many could tell his inorganic brain was in the state of over-processing. Rapidly, a few pairs of hands seized his body, applying force to move him away to a less stressful location to prevent his mental state from being overloaded.

“No, don’t think too far! Let it go for now. You may just overthink things.”

“And nothing good will come out of that. Come on, let’s get out a do something more relaxing... how about playing domino?”

“I hate to admit it, but in the scenario of full war, even if your little brother stayed in Murmansk he would still be affected. He might have to carry out a mission to the east coast of the US... that’s what the Northern Fleet exist for. They strike the east and we hit from west.”

“Good grief, I know you’re trying to ease up his stress but at least can you do a better job?! Tell him his younger brother will be in for war no matter he’s here or in Murmansk doesn’t really help!”

Although his hearing sensory picked up every word uttered around him by the seniors, his processing system didn’t really work on interacting with them rationally. So far he only stored what he heard into his memory... while the processing system had its hand full of worrying about the journey K-433 was in the middle of. Tamely, he let the older androids led him away, leaving the room brimming with tension and negative anticipations behind.

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The event here refers to [Korean Air Lines flight 007](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korean_Air_Lines_Flight_007). While the other 'shot down' incident asked by Podolsk was <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korean_Air_Lines_Flight_902>.


	6. Agonizing Uncertainty

  


For close to the following forty-eight hours, no method could yank the blond squid from being preoccupied regarding the safety of his younger sibling who was on the move. Because of the entire ordeal from the current political tension, making contact about his location proved to be quite risky for K-433. Hence he ceased regular contact to report his position and would only do so when he reached within close proximity to the entrance of Avacha Bay. At this moment, the androids from other projects left the tenth squid under care of his older siblings who he didn’t get to meet until arriving in Kamchatka, K-455 and K490 - the fourth and the fifth squids, respectively.

“Hey, calm down, kiddy brother. You’re so tense…” the oldest squid with light blond hair softly slapped on his younger sibling’s solid belly. K-223 didn’t give any reaction and plainly ignored that action. Stepping up their tactic, K-490 mashed the youngest 667BDR’s face between his palms, forcefully squeezing those youthful looking, silicone-based material cheeks in process.

“Get over yourself, naughty kid! You’re dead wrong if you think you’re the only one who worries about K-433’s well-being!!”

A wrestling ensued, drawing attentions from other androids outside of their class who lingered around the common room. Before they could achieve an outcome whether who had the upper hand, a messenger carrying ‘note’ from their boss popped in. Hollering at them to stop their childish ruckus, the messenger then gestured toward the HQ building.

“Guys, Boss needs to see you. All three of you.”

  


They could have sworn that their sensors were able to detect their boss’ weariness from the air surrounding him in his private office. Despite being non-biological being, thus the lack of sleep had no effect on him, they recognized the high level of stress and fully alerted concentration the older android had been keeping up since. He certainly looked worse than any of the Kalmar trio could remember. The one who stayed on this base the longest was concerned, “Boss, will you be okay?”

“I’ll survive somehow, young ones. It’s really... more terrible things one after another.”

While the youngest brother didn’t seem to catch the clue yet, thinking his superior only complained about the tense situation in the last couple days, the older two… suddenly got a fearful anticipation.

“K-433 suffered an accident. He reported that there is some damage to his external structure, and he needs to continue the rest of the journey in surface position.”

Since they already expected their unsuspicious youngest sibling to do something unthinkable in reaction to the bad news, both K-455 and K-490 were quick to intercept that frame of the same build from dashing out of the room. “Cut it, you stupid! What do you think you’re doing?!” yelled the second eldest.

“But K-433! He’s alone, and he is on the surface! Let me go! I’ll ask our attack submarine colleagues to go out and guard him! He can’t be left out there in this situation!!”

“You might have become friends with them but don’t you ever think you have any power to tell them what to do! That’s not how military works!!” all of his concentration focused on the struggle with his own siblings, K-223 didn’t notice that their boss had risen up and moved to block the doorway as a preventative measure. Once he noticed the changed, it downed to him that if he wanted to do so, he would need to get through the commander firstly. Ice cold look from the oldest android cast toward the panic SSBN.

“Your brother is right, unfortunately. We’re on combat-ready stand by, no one should leave our base without an order of mission.”

But he soon backed up his stern decision with an additional intel, “Luckily there’s an attack submarine type of the Northern Fleet in the Arctic water close to where he was. They’re sending the guy to escort K-433 until he safely reaches our territory. Of course, K-433 isn’t completely helpless, he also contacted his old fleet along with us.”

Those further developing details successfully put an end to the grapple between three siblings. Now motionless, the brown-green lenses under darker shade of blond eyebrows turned down, causing his head to bow slightly, as if to amend for his disobedience.

“...Thank you so much, Boss.”

“Save that thank to the guy from Northern Fleet.” with his arms crossed tightly across his chests, those light brown eyes glared at the now docile squid.

  


On their way out, instead of the trio which went in together, there was only the duo of fourth and fifth Kalmar returning from their commander’s office. They leisurely chatted among themselves as both strode back to barrack.

“He embarrasses us in a day more than the last two years combined, that imbecile.”

“But who else would be best to retain and slap some sense into him more than Boss? See, he doesn’t listen to us as he used to anymore…” lamented the eldest representative of project 667BDR in the northwest Pacific.

A growl slipped from K-490, “Let’s see if he’ll care for K-433 worth the amount of troubles he put us through. The longer time passes, the more meaningless these two or three years of difference between each unit. Look at us, you and I are now more like friends than siblings.”

  


Behind the aged wooden door confining the submarines’ superior and outside non-duty world, the youngest squid dutifully assisted the owner of this office to keep paperwork and cleanliness in order. Watchful eyes from the earlier deployed unit with light brown hair followed him on every single action, from time to time slipped to the telephone on his desk.

“Funny... you offered yourself to help me around in exchange for being the first to hear anything regarding your younger brother. I don’t know if that is a wise offer or a witless one.”

“But it also means now I’m within your sight the entire time. This way you won’t to worry if I’d do anything even more stupid. I’d say it’s a fair exchange, sir.” that, he had to agree with his temporary unappointed secretary.

Leaning backward into his chair, the squadron commander shifted his body to take a brief look from a window near his work desk. Outside... autumn was taking shape. Foliage gradually breached of green shade, morphing to a more yellow tone. The hill, the backbone of this cape their base situated, resembled a field of golden rye... but soon would look more like a field in flame when the foliage shifted its color toward redder hue. Flame... after decades of calling this base home, would it fall victim to war between US and the USSR?

“To be completely honest... I can’t even guess if we will escape being pulled into a full-blown nuclear war. This is the first time tension in this region reaches this height since I got commissioned.” reflecting rather quietly, his eyes continued to follow the other frame in similarly entirely black uniform.

K-223 remained silent. If even his boss who spent far longer time than he did in real military sphere still struggled to predict the possibility, there was nothing for someone who barely shed a ‘newbie’ title like him could say. Stacks of paperwork orderly arranged into the file cabinet, dusting the bookshelf without a word in return, eventually, earned him another teaching.

“If the war really broke out, there’s never a guarantee that I’d survive to continue my role as commander of submarine androids in this base. Chances are... if I’m gone someone needs to step up and take over. While I do have a candidate of my successor in mind... I will at least tell you that, idealistically, this position most likely inherit by SSBN. That’s the hierarchy of rank among us submarines - SSBN over SSGN, SSN or SSK. Until recently with the appearance of those aircraft carrying cruisers, several cruisers used to compete for the highest rank but now with those large aircraft carrying ones, they arrive and be on top of everyone else.”

“Sir? Does that mean…”

“If somehow our base got wiped out during the war and there’s no other older projects of SSBN survive, your class... or likely you older brothers... one of them would have become the commander in place of me.”

“I would prefer that to never happen, sir.” merely imagined the possibility that... even his own siblings also gone scared him terribly.

  


  


Several days gone by when a phone call relating to K-433's fate finally rang out. By that time, the restless 667BDR android had been taught, lectured and scolded countless times by the higher-ranked submarine. The communication department rung the android commander as soon as they received contact from the incoming transferring android, relaying a message that the accident-stricken Kalmar entered the Avacha Bay without further incident. By that time, the commander himself was ready to kick the lingering tenth squid off his office on his way to the pier. K-223 was only happy to comply and left the HQ building in a haste.

Aside from human personnel readily awaited at the pier to conduct evaluating of damage suffered as soon as the new android landed, he was among the first androids to reach where his younger sibling would officially complete the transfer. Turned out, luckily the damage was rather minimal. It was something equivalent to a broken nose in human, except it prevented K-433 from submerging underwater. He wasn’t sure how serious the extent of damage actually was after crashing into underside of the ice cap during an extremely narrow passage in Chukchi Sea.

Thus the first glimpse K-223 had of his younger brother... was this gentle looking young man around his age with short dark auburn hair and matching hazel eyes. What he had forever lost the chance to have a visual memory... was what K-433 looked like before the accident disfigured his nose area.

  


Readily taking his awaited younger sibling under his own responsibility, K-223 led K-433 to the underground basement which was built with reinforced materials. There, hidden from the plain sight which could be photographed by enemy’s spy plane was the main ammunition storage of the Kamchatka base. Heavy footsteps by two bodies, each weighed for over five hundreds kilograms, echoing along the route metal staircase laid down toward the level below the earth. Already knew where every functioning switch located in this underground level, K-223 lit the passage. Ahead of them was a wide, thick concrete-walled chamber, divided into several segments.

Hugging his younger brother’s portable missile silos close to his chests, the blond Kalmar ushered the other unit to their assigned section. Right next to his own slot was an empty one with ‘K-433’ labeled on the door.

Quietness ceased its power by a small, rattling sound of keys being selected to unlock the chunky steel plate. No word passed between the siblings as they stored the newly arrived android’s armaments. Before securing the steel door again, the older of the two units slid his eyes to his own armaments storage slot... hoping he would never have to tear the door open in an emergency as he was once instructed.

Originally they both had so much to talk to each other but this grim reality completely demotivated their desire for ‘get to know each other’ chat. Pressing his hand fully on the flat steel plate, the last Kalmar to make a transfer before today looked down at the dull cement flooring. Slowly and lowly in volume, he asked for his brother’s well-being.

“Your nose... what did the maintenance technicians say?”

Rubbing the shape which was by now crooked in the off-centered fashion, the younger squid with auburn hair carefully replied. “As long as I keep water away from the ‘wound’, it should be fine. They’ll look at it again if they can fix it.”

A slight nod preceded verbal response, “That’s... a relief to hear.” No response from K-433 as he somewhat sensed that his brother wasn’t really finishing his speech yet.

“I dislike how things changed so much, so quickly since the last time we talked.”

Before he’d realize it, steadily the squid who witnessed the beginning of this deplorable derailing of fragile status quo let loose of the worry, fear and frustration pending up inside him.

“You’re not supposed to arrive here in this situation... DAMN IT!! I loathe those humans, the irresponsible pilots of that passenger plane, the lying from our own side, the lack of will to avoid conflict. Even our boss is mad!! We’re going to be sent for war for the most illogical cause ever.” 

From it first stationary position, K-223’s left hand lifted itself off the surface then slammed back on the metal plate forcefully.

Yet to readily forming any idea for verbal responses of his own, K-433 let his eyes gilded to the adjoining storage slots. Scribbled with dark blue marker were the labels of ‘K-455’ and ‘K-490’ - the oldest siblings of theirs in the same base. Yes, he also hoped to spend a pleasant time getting to know them, too. The fact that war could be upon them any moment tortured him all the same.

“Unfortunately... although we’re programmed to treasure siblings bond, first and foremost, we’re warfare androids.”

Words carried by gentler tone resonating around the chamber, waking them up from the ‘dream’ of spending peaceful days on leisurely talk. Reality of ‘what they were’ right this second straddled over them - that the ‘bonds’ they had created were entirely meaningless in the face of war.

“I’d want to say I ‘pray’ for war to be averted, but doing so probably means I’ll get in trouble…" religions were among the forbidden subjects in the USSR after all. And to know that androids like them developed a belief in such ‘nonsense’ would be aggravating to human commanders.

A hand that didn’t belong to him gently placed itself on K-223’s back as he struggled for words.

“For the amount of concern you’ve shown for me through words and actions. Even if it’s just so short, I... won’t…”

  


Amidst the solitude of underground storage chamber, no one else knew what promise the two Kalmar units made to each other.

  


* * *


	7. Vladivostok, 1985

  


Over a thousand of kilometers southwest of the Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy-50 base lied Vladivostok, the south-easternmost tip of the USSR. Here, too, had been choking by the poisonous air of political tension resulting from the shooting down of Korean Air Lines Flight 007 three years ago. The troop of naval androids deployed here, a mixture of surface ship type and a handful of submarine type, were restless as they saw no certainty when this risk of war would clear up.

Stemmed from that precise tension, the call for intense reinforcement to the eastern fleet was approved in following years after the tragedy with Korean Air Lines Flight 007. Starting with Novorossiysk, the third android of the project 1143 aircraft carrying cruiser, who was urgently sent from conducting a sea trial in the Northern Fleet to the east. This came as the first major reinforcement as now the eastern fleet based in Vladivostok had two aircraft carrying type at their possession. However, it couldn’t be said that the level of excitement during the welcome of Minsk, the fleet’s first aircraft carrying cruiser android, even measure up to what happened in summer 1985, with the grand entrance of Frunze. And it felt as if the sunshine in that summer somehow turned up to be far stronger than previous summer in recent years.

Famous for being the second prodigy as the younger sibling of renowned Kirov of the Northern Fleet, Frunze was the first ever surface ship type android powered by nuclear energy. This set him apart from the rest of his fellow surface ship type, for Frunze could operate up to five years continuously without refueling.

  


Not only his reputation was exceptionally well before his physical arrival to the Far East. With the stature of 188 centimeters tall, robust body under striking cream-colored uniform and Prussian Blue cape flung over his left shoulder, everybody’s first impression of Frunze was nothing short of mesmerizing. However, they were in for a bombshell, a positive one, as soon as they interact with this newcomer from Leningrad.

Assuming from his steel-gray eyes and raven-liked black hair, coupled with rumors of Kirov’s notorieties if being an enigma, the earlier deployed androids expected the same ‘difficult to get to know’ demeanor from the second Orlan. That impression shattered right when he introduced himself, radiating friendliness and a high degree of confidence.

“Zdravstvuyte! It’s my pleasure to meet you all in the Pacific Fleet! The name’s Frunze, but please just call me ‘Minya’! Yes, everybody is included whether you’re a combat member of the fleet or not. I’m here to cooperate with every one of you without the restriction of fame or importance! Together we’ll work hard to protect our state!!”

Such gleeful introduction left the other androids astounded. The only pair of androids with compatible height, Minsk and Novorossiysk, looked to be equally floored by such prolific social skill possessed by their newest addition.

“You sound like an overzealous politician on cannabis, you know,” under gruff tone, Minsk who was the current flagship of the Pacific Fleet remarked. “Don’t ask me which politician is that. We’re not supposed to talk about that subject.”

“But... Boss, please believe me! This is far better than the uncommunicative a--hole Sergunya--- errr, I mean Kirov chose for his persona! He makes everyone’s life hell, always unable to guess what he was thinking... you can ask your eldest brother if you don’t believe me!” Many eyebrows were raised at the expletive used by the young Orlan describing his older brother. The flagship with medium length wavy brown hair rubbed his eyes sockets before signalling his own younger sibling to the phone. On cue, Novorossiysk stepped toward the gleaming black telephone at the right side of their ‘androids only’ dormitory’s entrance hall.

“Put the fee on my tab, Novorossiysk. Just what the Northern Fleet gave us here... did somehow his inorganic brain malfunction during the transition?”

Frunze even faked a flinch as if truly being physically hurt by that comment. Apparently, he was steadily gathering fascinations among his fleet mates with his extraordinary advanced level of social interactions. Meanwhile, Minsk only gave him a mildly annoyed glance for all of his newest subordinate’s ‘outrageous displays’.

“Please let me explain, Boss.” surprisingly in a stark contrast to the previous cheerful chirp, though not completely unexpected from android, Frenze switched to a more serious, ‘commanding’ voice fluidly.

“I may be Sergun--- all right, please just acknowledge that name for Kirov. Being his first younger sibling doesn’t mean I have to act exactly like him. With difficulties the engineers observed from my older brother, they had improved the communication components while constructing me. As the result, I’m the more communicative version of project Orlan - the first modification from what Kirov was based on. My deepest apologies if my behaviors cross you, Boss, but this is exactly how the humans want me to be.”

“Well, I don’t know about him, but I can confirm that Kirov was unbearably quiet for sure, Minsk. During my time in Murmansk I never heard him say a word.” said Novorossiysk while he was holding the phone handset to his ear, waiting for someone to pick the call up on the other end.

“That’s because Sergunya is being ridiculously insecure about his voice. Ahem! That’s all I can let you know, Novorossiysk. But thank you for testifying on my stead!”

The light brown-haired android from Nikolaev didn’t have a chance to respond because the line was picked up at last. “Hello? Could you please transfer my call to the naval android dormitory number? This is Novorossiysk, from the Pacific Fleet…”

On the other side of the confined space, immediate behind the front door, debate continued.

“ _Just wait until we confront the American carrier task force! I’ll show you I can obliterate their carrier androids and protect our side no different from Sergunya!_ ” “Hi, Kiev big brother! Um, no... I don’t call because I miss Severomorsk. Minsk asked me to... it’s concerned Frunze.”

“ _I get your enthusiasm, but keep your mouth shut! We’re trying hard here to thread carefully around the Americans. I’m not going to let you run your loud mouth and ignite war when it can totally be avoid! If going straight to butt head with the Americans is what you plan to do, I’m sending you back to Northern Fleet!!!_ ” “Let’s say we’re surprised by how outgoing Frunze is... and yes. That’s Minsk in the background.”

Blocking his sensory from paying attention at the ongoing verbal sparring between two of the largest androids in his fleet not too far away, Novorossiysk finally concentrated on his conversation with Kiev.

“Frunze is just... incredibly chatty? His level of social skill is something we never see before. Minsk even accused that maybe Frunze’s inorganic brain went malfunctioned during his voyage to our coast. ...Right, I’m here to confirm if his personality has always been this communicative during the time he was temporary assigned there?”

“Thought I heard something about that silly Minsk screaming ‘sending you back to Northern Fleet’?” 

Cautiously waiting until his youngest brother affirmed what he heard, then Kiev unleashed a long rant through long-distance phone line. “That dummy!! Minya is a freaking GENIUS! That kid is not only much easier to work with compared to Kirov. He’s smart and extremely observant to the point he could even crack Kirov’s mystic behavior that baffled us for years! What kind of moron he has to be to find Minya useless?!?! Fine, tell him if he can’t appreciate Minya for what he is, then so be it! Send him back here! We were so damn bitter we had to give Minya to you and what now? And don’t expect we’ll ever let you come anywhere near him again!!”

...By now Novorossiysk wished he had connected the handset to a megaphone so the middle brother of project 1143 could hear from their eldest brother directly.

“And you suppose I have to convey that crazy intensity in your voice to him? While you’re at it, what else do you want to tell him?” he was prepared for another lengthy tirade he needed to brace himself for as the middleman. Instead, the third member of the first ever generation of aircraft carrying type heard soft laughter, “Tell him to mind his own problem instead of trying to change Minya. For example, treat his Yak-38 better…”

“I can bet that’s going to hurt.” Yes, for whatever reason, Minsk was rather prolific at having accidents with the Yak-38 aircraft androids who worked as part of carrier team with them.

“Make sure it hurts, so he’ll stop messing up at once.”

If only the technology progressed far enough to invent telephone which could display the visual of participants in conversation, Kiev would have seen Novorossiysk rolled his green-blue eyes - the matching color for all member of the project 1143. “Next time you two want to communicate, count me out. I’m not being a middleman anymore.”

“I’m not even sure what I want exactly. For you to slap some sense into that stupid Minsk or just make sure Minsk send Minya back to us.”

“Of course, I---” but Kiev already hung up.

  


Turning around, the android in full white uniform with light hair found multiple pairs of eyes settled on him expectedly. He huffed in dissatisfaction and went for the kill, “There is nothing wrong, Frunze has always been like that. And, he told you to ‘mind your own trouble with the Yak’ instead of trying to correct Frunze.”

“...Just how exactly it comes to focus on me when I asked you to contact him solely about Frunze?”

“Because apparently he’s bitter? I’m going to be nice and spare your ears but bottom line is, Kiev said you should appreciate him. If you dare send Frunze back, you’d never ever get anywhere nearly him again. The Northern Fleet needs him because they knew what a gem he is.” Next, he laid his eyes on the newcomer in cream-colored uniform. “From someone who have experience and KNOW what Frunze talked about regarding Kirov. He has my vote to stay. His social behavior might be a bit too much for our usual intake but it’s far better than constant silence.”

Such train of lecturing made Minsk threw his hands in the air. “Now both you and Kiev are chewing me.”

“Well, can you believe it his actual parting word was? Either I smack some sense into you or just send Frunze back and we’ll never see him again. I bet the commanding level is going to be stratospherically pissed at you to make such blunder of turning him away after all those blunders with Yak-38…”

“...Now you sound like you want me fired from flagship post and replace me yourself,” moaned Minsk as he visibly gave up. “All right! Fine!!! Welcome to our fleet, Frunze! For everyone else, DISMISS! Only Frunze stay behind!”

Solely out of respect for their flagship that forbade the lower-ranked androids from sniggering at their commander. For his part in joining the task force together on the transition journey with Frunze as an escort, the first Fregat android to the fleet, Admiral Spiridonov was quickly swarmed by interests from his colleagues. It took almost two full minutes before the place would be completely cleared out, leaving only three frames of height over 185 centimeters.

Still sitting on a chair, Minsk raised his right leg up in a crossing position, with no change warily watched his more-popular-than-expected fresh reinforcement. Another inquiry in the same gruff tone directed at the fleet’s first Orlan.

“You should be fine as long as you keep your overly enthusiasm about the whole ‘war with America’ thing in check. Yes, the commanding level sent you here precisely for that reason but we’re not waging war with the Americans first thing in the morning, right the second we spot them in the sea. Got that memorized and you should be just fine in this fleet.”

“I did say ‘protect our state’ in my introduction, Commander,” the black-haired Orlan addressed his superior formally, with respect but without fear.

“Please don’t take me for a fool. My personality might not be to your liking, but I do not forget our military doctrine - we strictly take the defensive stance, we won’t strike first.” By reciting the core of their operation, he then went on. “Our state is not prepared to open two warring fronts at once. While us naval androids have no part in it because of the geography restriction, many of our ground and air counterparts are fighting in Afghanistan.”

“That one certainly looks like a huge mess. Six years on and it still sees no end,” commented the naval android who possessed a few aircraft types as his direct underlings. “Kosek!”

  


A new android Frunze had not seen before popped in from the area leading to the staircase. This blond-haired, rather young looking android in signature telnyashka shirt and dull gray-colored uniform was much smaller than he was, probably not even 170 centimeters in height. “Yes, Commander?”

“Take Frunze to see his room, then guide him to tour the area near base.”

That head full of dark blond hair bobbing, then proceeded to make an introduction to the face he also just met. “Greetings, sir. I’m called Kuzma, Kamov Ka-27 ASW helicopter android. Pleasure is mine to cooperate with you.”

Right by the next couple of seconds, that compact body was shaken, both by surprise and by the force Frunze swung his long arm to encircle Kuzma’s narrow shoulders. Brothers of the aircraft carrying type whose first sea they saw was the enclosed Black Sea observed their interactions in silence. It was visible from his body language that their newest ‘big’ newcomer set his goal to befriend his fellow androids in the fleet as quickly as possible. “Hi and thank you, Kuzma! No need for such formality! I’m here to be your friend, please just forget whatever you have heard about Kirov. He and I are certainly not the same, I’m not here to intimidate anyone…”

That unfamiliar chatty voice trailed off as their physiques disappeared from sight up the staircase. Back to tranquility at last, Novorossiysk added another verbal prod to his older sibling.

“You’re... unusually fidgety. Worried he would take away your flagship rank just like Kirov did to Kiev?” pausing for a quick moment, he then deepened his casual assault. “Maybe not... even when I first came here. You were paranoid about me in that aspect, too.”

In a return fire, Minsk grabbed a magazine laying on a nearby table and threw it at his ‘enemy of the same lineage’.

“Are you supporting a coup against your own brother just now? Damn you…”

“Stupid, if it’s approved by the commanding level then it’s not a coup.” The third in 1143 lineage neatly placed the magazine back to the small bookshelf and offered temporary peace by walking away through the front door.


	8. Atomic Friendship

  
Over the following months, Frunze readily commenced an ‘assault’ on any unsuspicious colleagues within the easternmost fleet whom he had yet to strike a conversation with. From Novorossiysk himself to the normally ‘behind the scene’ individuals like tug boat androids, no one was spared. True to what he announced, Frunze approached anyone, without paying importance to one’s rank or level of responsibility. Steadily his popularity grew among ‘his own kind’ in the fleet, although, on contrary the human commanders frowned on such an unrestricted way he carried himself. They would prefer it if Frunze stood on the same par with Kirov... however, the second Orlan saw no logic in it. He experienced the difficulty his older brother’s persona had caused first handedly, above all.

Calendar shifted pages until they ran out, moved on to being replaced by a new one of the year 1986. Another foreign face to Frunze’s eyes appeared, without being actually foreign.

Transferred to the Vladivostok base in anticipation for his promised mid-life check up and repair, just like how he met K-279 back at ‘home’, the tenth squid with blond hair strolled by the waterfront toward the Leninskaya Street searching for a post box. In his hand were two postcards - one for his siblings back in Kamchatka and another would fly much farther away... back to the northwest region of the USSR.

  


Regrettably, his ‘Murena’ mentor was right. He would have no chance to return ‘home’ again.

  


Out of nowhere, the usually cautious Kalmar was rendering a target in the eyes of some ‘predator’ who quickly took notice of his seemingly clumsy movement, as if not accustomed to the location. Moving quietly, while the ‘squid’ was preoccupied with the noise of cars passing left and right on the street, the ‘eagle’ adorned with flowing blue cape was inches away from pouncing on his prey.

However, his actual ‘attack’ was far more harmless, “Hi, need some help, squid? What’s your number?!”

By using such ‘nickname’, it alerted the visiting submarine at once of the identity of the potential helper - certainly a fellow naval android or at least someone who served in the navy. Slowly, he took his eyes off the street and took in the first visual of the project 1144 Orlan - or ‘Sea Eagle’.

“Hello, I’m K-223. You’re... the project 1144... Frunze, right? Nice to meet you.”

“Same here, a pleasure to meet you, too! I have never seen you around before, normally you’re in Kamchatka, aren’t you?” to which the head full of blond hair nodded at that highly chirpy tone.

“Correct, this is my first time Vladivostok actually, after being transferred to Far East in 1980. I’ll enter mid-life checkup and repair at Bolshoy Kamen soon,” that monotonous tone was so much of a signature for a submarine. Frunze himself shifted to look eastward where the mentioned settlement located. He had been in the capital of Far East for a half year now, local geography was no more of a trouble for him. 

“Aha, so you’re only in Vladivostok for a short time before moving there. Anyway, earlier you looked kinda lost. What are you looking for?”

“A post box…” explained the fellow nuclear-powered humanoid war machine with the two postcards up in the air to his shoulder level.

“A post box? Oh, not a problem I can take you to it!” 

Even before the sub could react properly, he was pulled by a hand beneath a pristine white glove - an uncommon element among androids. The pair of moderately tall figures walked down the street together westward, with Frunze took the lead in their conversation. 

“So what’s it like being the only surface ship type who stays awake during night?”

A laughter roared from another nuclear-powered android similar to the inquirer, except he strictly operated above the surface. “Oh, super fun, really! Back in the Northern Fleet I hung out with your kind during most night as well. Too bad there aren’t that many nuclear subs here... guess most of you are separated to Kamchatka’s base?”

Without waiting for an answer, Frunze whispered new secret to his newfound acquaintance, “But sometimes Commander Minsk and Novorossiysk were awake all night for days straight, too.”

“They look after the order in our fleet, after all.” K-223 added knowingly. “You know that kind of responsibilities, too, don’t you? Your older brother is the flagship of Northern Fleet…”

To the Leningrad native’s minor disappointment, he discovered how his Severodvinsk native conversation partner didn’t get to meet his eldest brother before leaving Murmansk. The blond Kalmar agreed that was something he was let down for himself as well, knowing the intense hype around the entrance of the much-anticipated ‘Kirov’. Next topic moved on to the project 941 Akula, which he also unfortunately missed the opportunity to see even back home in Severodvinsk.

“The Akula? Huh... hmmmm, they’re sure a bizarre bunch if you ask me. I mean, Sergunya is reputed for being unfriendly and unapproachable but he was actually really nice toward me. So he’s not too out of ordinary, sibling-wise.”

When asked to clarify how ‘bizarre’, ‘Minya’ looked to be, for the first time, at loss of words.

“I don’t know the reason behind this behavior but... they fight among themselves regularly. It was aggressive to the extreme, like you would think they’re truly intended to kill each other. On the other hand though, they’re far more friendly interacting with anyone outside of their own class. Honestly, I can read Sergunya’s persona but I’m frankly clueless trying to figure them out.”

“Oh wow, it was that bad? I’m sure the commanding at the Northern Fleet must be fuming with this... unneeded fuss.” Even though he was also a nuclear-powered submarine himself, he couldn’t understand what could be the source of this horrible rage he heard.

“You’re absolutely right!” once again, K-223 was amazed by how Frunze was just so effortlessly animated. “Say, I hope... there’s no such senseless rivalry in our fleet? I don’t seem to see anything too terrible here. What about in Kamchatka?”

“Other than my older siblings annoyed by the fact that they cannot trick me on anything anymore, no…”

“Great! That’s how I want my fleet to be! Everybody on cordial term and at peace!”

  


  


Brightly against the drab-colored exterior of the building it sat by, the duo of humanoid-shaped creations resulting from military technology spotted the blue post box they looked for.

“I haven’t thought about it before... but maybe I should send a postcard to Sergunya, too.” Completely in contrast with the submarine, Frunze mused out loud. He knew Sergunya wouldn’t... like, leave his postcard in a trash can despite his famous cold demeanor. However, he couldn’t imagine him suddenly broke his carefully constructed cold exterior over just a single postcard either.

“Do you know what he likes? Perhaps I can help with choosing a postcard…” unbeknownst to the Kalmar of how difficult his new colleague’s sibling was, he innocently offered.

“...Being left alone, being assigned missions, generally acting like a teenage kid with self-esteem issue.”

Those choices left the green-brown eyes blinking. Frunze could only lightly squeezed his comrade’s shoulder in empathy. “Yes, fames sometimes come with undesirable behaviors, borderline being totally ridiculously unreasonable in order to maintain them. He doesn’t have much individuality outside of work. What a pain...”

Seeing how he had turned his companion dumbfounded by now, the taller android with sleek black hair reassured him it wasn’t K-223’s fault for running out of ideas.

“Trust me, 80% out of everyone in Murmansk have no idea how to please my brother either. He’s so enigmatic even SSBNs like you are more sociable---” a yell across the street interrupted his speech, trying to get it through the visible wall of noise from vehicles travelling in between. It was a group of their fellow humanoid machines. “Minya! K-223! Wanna go check out a singing competition at the town square? Some of our human personnel join in!”

“Oh, sure!! Count me in, guys! You’re going too?”

“No... I need to go back to our base to check in with Commander Minsk.”

“Aha, guess we’ll split up now. But! You free tomorrow? I sure want to spend more time with you again!”

Once received confirmation of what he hoped for, the Orlan in a unique cream-colored uniform crossed the street to his await companions. Waving a signal of departure, then the larger group walked away on the opposite side, chatting lively among themselves. The blond squid lingered behind a little longer, taking in the buzz of the city with hundreds of thousands residents he wasn’t used to. Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy-50 had merely a half hundred thousands at most? After over a week following his arrival in the main base of the Pacific Fleet, he wondered how his comrades back on the peninsula were doing now?

At last he also crossed the street but ran in the opposite direction of Frunze’s group. He had already been informed earlier that due to the dropping in economic stability throughout the USSR, his mid-life repair wouldn’t be as short as that of K-279. That was why their flagship called him to confer of further arrangement.

  


  


By the time the tenth Kalmar took departure for Bolshoy Kamen, he was already included in the list of Frunze’s friends. His last thought before entering the confined territory of the Far East shipyard was how long all of his siblings would survive being ‘strangers’ to their Orlan?

He expected them to lose that status as soon as Minya made the first visit to the adjoining area of the squadron’s patrol area…

  


* * *


	9. Siblings War : Pacific Fleet Edition

  


Another year shifted through the calendar, and luckily the world still retained its fragile peace. Despite Minya went out and encountered the American task force within the responsible area of the fleet, there was no unpleasantry occurred. Four years it had been since the stroke of tension between the US and USSR but they both equally threaded carefully around each other, for they knew one reckless move and they could send the world plummet into a nuclear war that could kill the majority of earth citizens.

Despite of that, there wasn’t any slowdown in the pace of reinforcement to the navy.

  


“I heard the second Atlant is already commissioned.” 

Casually, Novorossiysk mentioned of another warfare naval android project - the 1164 Atlant. Specifically known as ‘aircraft carrier killers’, this project was entrusted to the 61 Kommunara shipyard in Nikolaev, hardly more than a few kilometers upstream from where the two project 1143 units ‘born’ themselves. The third member of aircraft carrying type cruiser had become a sort of voluntary secretary for his brother, helping what he could with overseeing the orders in this fleet. Hence, it now became a usual sight to see the brothers hanging around closely together, discussing any happening that could affect their fleet.

A noncoherent grunt emerged from the older android also bearing the name of heroic cities of the USSR. “The first one, Slava, was commissioned the year all this shit hit the fan. I wish they could just send him to us first. Instead, we have to wait for the third?? Economy is getting more and more lousy - four years after the third has awakened and he’s not yet ready for commissioning!”

“War in that landlocked country is nothing but a mistake. How many of our comrades in other branches were liquidated there? It would be much easier if... the higher ups merely want to destroy that country. We could just send our SSBNs to launch nuclear missiles and it should end quickly.”

Minsk gave his younger brother a side glance. “I bet the top brasses thought so too when they decided to invade that country. If ‘quickly’ means dragging on for eight years without clear result…”

Ear-piercing shriek of the telephone ringing killed the conversation regarding the battle in a faraway land. Accompanied by an irritate grumbling, the Pacific Fleet flagship fished the handset of shiny black telephone, “Hello? Yes??”

  


  


“At last, we get our own version of ‘siblings war’ same as the Akula guys that Kiev whined about so much?” 

In an overly monotonous yet laced with faint annoyance, the highest commander among the naval warfare androids headed in urgency to the waterfront. His ‘shadow’ commented to that statement in a more carefree tone, “At least luck is on our side. They’re all smaller than us, so it shouldn’t be as much trouble as what Kiev faces.” 

There on the thick concrete structure which served as a pier for the androids to step up from water, found Admiral Spiridonov already stood there with a strangely nervous demeanor. Noticing the tremble on the ground from close to three tons combined weight of his fleet’s superiors, Spiridonov gray eyes whipped its line of sight to the approaching figures. Nearby, a dozen of other android also started gathering to get a first look at their new comrades. This included the ‘black’ counterpart of Fregat, which Spiridonov belonged to - the Sarych destroyer, Osmotritelnyy. It only made sense since this transfer included not only three Fregat androids at once but also another Sarych. Before long, the well-known people's person of the easternmost fleet, Frunze, also made his appearance. Besides the waiting brothers, he was probably an ‘outsider’ who possessed as much eagerness to meet the newcomers.

  


“Em,” called by his assigned diminutive, the sole Fregat android of the Pacific fleet turned his full attention to his superior. “It’s going to be overwhelming. Brace yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” but the two protectors of order in the fleet didn’t doubt Spiridonov did not understand what he was about to face. Minsk’s choice of word ‘overwhelm’ meant not just trying to hug all three brothers at once.

  


Normally it would be rather tough to spot something the size of an average person’s height on the horizon kilometers away, even with the androids’ enhanced sight superiority over ordinary humans. Narrow in width, the channel leading up to the Golden Horn Bay where the Pacific Fleet HQ situated often overcrowded with cargo vessels coming in for the seaport nearby. For today though, a restriction was placed to halt marine traffic around the bay in the time when the quartet of transferring warfare androids arrived to their place of permanent deployment.

With several pairs of eyes sweeping for the same target, eventually when a trio of moving ‘white spots’ appeared on the even surface of sea blue skyline, someone called out, “They’re here!!”

As by now they had entered the last few kilometers stretch of their strenuous journey from Baltic Sea, all three ‘white spots’ and another black dot which was harder to locate decreased their approaching speed significantly. In a stark contrast to the usual ‘end of journey’ celebrating atmosphere, strangely there was a sort of solemn expression on each of the four androids. “Guess they’re tired? Did any of the American task force bother them before arriving here?” Again, a voice without a name visibly tagging to it wondered out loud in place of everyone gathering there.

“Miki! Miki!!” Spiridonov sprinted to the closest point of the long concrete structure jutting into the bay, calling out the figure appeared to be ‘leader’ of their transferring task force. He knew the ‘leader’ very well after all - Zakharov was the first sibling he got to know back at their ‘home’ in Kaliningrad.

Under white uniform cap and umber eyebrows, were gray eyes which lit up shortly at the sight of his first younger brother Zakharov didn’t see for two years. In fully armament and equipment combat-ready state, the second-born project 1155 android from Yantar Shipyard in Kaliningrad was the first to reach the pier. Tug boat androids were ready to lend assistance as they guided him toward the concrete slab about a half meter over the water surface. With the equipment attached to his feet powered off, by now the new, yet actually the oldest Fregat android of the Pacific Fleet only left the last process being handled by the non-combat android personnel.

Somehow before the other tug boat androids moved forward to offer help to those three left, a ruckus broke. As one of the younger Fregat pair, an individual with the same arrangement of armaments positioning as the leader in the front, glided toward the other who, strikingly had a ‘reverse’ arrangement of the same weapons with main guns platform on right side instead of left. Suddenly the lone ‘black sheep’ of the flock cut in and shoved that oncoming frame away before this android would get near the other with reverse armaments arrangement. Among the bellows of astonishment, standing out from the lower-pitched murmurs was a sharp, angry yell from the older Sarych.

  


“What the heck are you doing, Boyevoy!?”

  


For a short moment the opponents locked eyes then both drifted away quietly from each other. The Fregat with ‘usual’ arrangement of combat instruments and reddish blond hair peeking from under his uniform cap took a position by left side of Zakharov, while ‘black sheep’ led another to settle together a little farther away to the right. Something was not right, was what all androids presented at the scene realized. 

Each of the quartet of newly deployed androids sat on the concrete pier in absolute silence taking off the footing equipment providing them ability to float and glide over the water surface. They were being meticulously scanned for clues by the brothers from Nikolaev - for incident they witnessed seconds ago wasn’t quite according to the intel they had acquired before. Spiridonov, also uncertain of the situation, approached the one he trusted the most, “Miki, is there a problem?”

“Worst one you can probably think of. I hate to pull you in so soon after we barely arrived but I’m sure in need to your help, Em.” 

Finishing ridding himself of the equipment which worked with tremendous endurance to chauffeur himself for thousands of kilometers in two months at sea that 176 centimeters tall frame of the task force leader straightened up. Taking off his cap which obscured most of his visage until now, the gray eyes left Spiridonov to the other two units of same origin.

Another quarter minute passed by when those gray lenses sought for other targets, which weren’t that difficult to identify with their imposing physique. Still in full combat-ready form minus the footing equipment, Zakharov gave his new commander a salute and reported. “Greetings, sir! Admiral Zakharov, belong to the project 1155 Fregat, completed the transfer mission along with two more units of the same project, Admiral Tributs and Marshal Shaposhnikov. The project 956 Sarysh - Boyevoy also completed the transfer without any problem.”

“Good to hear…” the flagship’s gravelly voice faded away while he quietly scrutinized the other three newcomers still not finishing dealing with the footing equipment on their feet. A flash of fretful expression crossed Zakharov’s face before he quickly wiped it out and also set his sight at the trio of junior androids.

One by one they completed the task of disengaging the equipment from their feet and came standing in line by the right side of Zakharov. For some reason, again the one with reddish blond hair was the first to choose his position, lining himself up right next to the oldest brother of Pacific Fregat units. Next, a low roar emerged from bystanders once more, as the lone Sarych, undoubtedly Boyevoy, placed himself next to his earlier ‘opponent’. The last place was taken by the other Fregat, who exposed a short, reddish brown hair with the exact same shade of gray eyes mirroring the rest of his siblings. With a commanding nod from the ‘leader’, the trio of younger androids each took a turn to introduce themselves to their fleet.

  


“Marshal Shaposhnikov, the fourth unit from the Kaliningrad Fregat lineage.” 

  


No one really paid special notice at his strained tone nor the additional ‘lineage’ thing. They were clamoring about the name he bore; it was a Marshal of the USSR who reigned as Chief of the Staff of the Red Army and responsible for rebuilding the army prior the enemy invasion during WWII. Evidently, this new kid took such pride in his name and it showed through his attitude.

“I’m Boyevoy, one more Sarych to your fleet. Please give me guidance and I’ll be happy to make acquaintance with everyone. But, I suspect my sole excessively enthusiastic older brother over there won’t let you have a piece of me easily.”

Waves of whistles and playful jibes exploded from the rowdy crowd around the lone figure among them wearing black marine uniform. With a mocked frown, Osmotritelnyy yelled in return, “You bet I won’t let you off the hook easily!” to which Boyevoy somewhat saw through; it sure had something to do with the ‘confrontation’ minutes earlier. But he would have the last laugh... when his older brother finally grasped how wrong it was to believe he was the ‘problematic’ one.

It was the turn of the last of the Fregat trio. While not particularly emitting a vibe of shyness, he seemed to struggle with wording his introduction. Despite merely setting his first step to Vladivostok, he did see a similar face of Osmotritelnyy among the gathered colleagues. Simple as that, his formal conduct shifted to a more relax stance.

  


“Hello. My name is Admiral Tributs, the first Fregat from Shipyard No. 190 Zhdanov to Pacific Fleet. Nice to meet everyone here.”

  


“Boyevoy and I will have a piece of you once your older brothers take their eyes off you. Just wait, Volodyaka!!” by using the ‘-ka’ diminutive, it instantly became clear how the Sarych unit was in a tight term with this new Fregat from Leningrad. ‘Volodyaka’ whipped his eyes to the disruptive individual who was like a sort of step-sibling to him back home with an expression that pleaded Osmotritelnyy to keep his mouth shut.

Spiridonov was on edge and didn’t look like he could keep a distance from approaching two new siblings he only saw for the first time. Oddly, both Minsk and Novorossiysk spared neither word nor movement even after he waited for some time. Hence ‘Em’ decided to walk up to Tributs, the sibling he was curious about the most.

“So here you are! I have been hoping to meet you for such a long time!! Welcome! Should I call you Volodyaka, too? Is that your assigned diminutive---”

There was a hint of positive facial expression on the Leningrad-born android in a white uniform shirt but things changed quickly. To his start, abruptly Spiridonov’s arm was snatched in a deadly tight grip. On contrary, it was Tributs whose eyes were opening wide in shock yet didn’t move his body a centimeter. That hand which latched itself on Spiridonov... was from Shaposhnikov.

  


“Why HIM?! Weren’t you supposed to greet me first? I’m your direct younger sibling!!”

  


Confusion firmly unveiled on Spiridonov’s face. There was such a strange sense of urgency in Shaposhnikov’s voice that was somehow out of place. Boyevoy’s auburn-colored brows shifted into a frown as he stepped back and pulled Tributs with him, at least creating a space from the commotion. Still with ever composed manner, at last Minsk said something, “So this is it.”

“Boryushka! Let go of Em NOW!!!” 

Thunderous bawl arose from Zakharov with an incredibly maddening intensity. Possibly because he never experienced such rage from his oldest presenting brother before, ‘Boryushka’ fumbled and disengaged his powerful clutch on Spiridonov’s arm. Not wasting the opportunity, true to their project name ‘Frigatebird’ Zakharov then swooped in snapping his hands on Shaposhnikov’s upper arm and dragged him off. Sparing one brief look to ask for permission from their flagship, he then forced his troublesome younger sibling away toward the HQ building, where they were supposed to head to afterward to store their armaments and equipment.

Stunned, the second oldest of the Fregat clan stood unable to react to the disturbance recently unfolded. Feeling he himself was to blame, Tributs just... tilted his head downward to look at the five meters wide concrete structure they stepped on their return to land again. Like a good friend, the fresh addition of Sarych destroyers gave Tributs a reassuring squeeze on the wrist which he hadn’t yet released since gripping it to help his fellow Leningrad native escape Shaposhnikov’s ‘mild’ wrath. 

Boyevoy’s bright blue eyes moved to the tallest figures among those presented. “Sir, could I be granted a permission to explain the situation?”

“I and Novorossiysk are kind of aware of it a little but sure. Clearer explanation always welcome.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you very much.” 

  


By now even Spiridonov’s bemused gray eyes were on him. Detaching himself from ‘Volodyaka’ at last, the youngest project 956 reached for Spiridonov.

“Zakharov would prefer to brief you on this himself if Shaposhnikov didn’t act up. If I recall... he did say something to you about ‘needing your help’ while Tributs and I still got tangled in the process of disengaging the footing equipment.” And ‘Em’ gave an affirmation nod.

“The thing is... it’s... very unusual. I don’t know if it stemmed from how he used to have Zakharov’s attention all to himself back in Kaliningard or some other factor. The bottom line is, he hates Tributs, sir. Or at least becoming mysteriously enraged whenever Tributs displays any affection toward him as a younger sibling. He downright refuses to see Tributs as a sibling.”

“Okay, go on - I’m listening,” but that reply actually startled Boyevoy because it belonged to... the member of illustrious Orlan cruisers. Frunze himself moved to the conferring group, paying close attention to the complication developing. 

“Saw him had a stir with you, too. My guess is probably... he has some kind of prejudice against the fact both of you were ‘born’ in Leningrad? If that’s the case, then it also concerned me.”

“Truthfully… I’m not so certain regarding that, sir,” confessed Boyevoy. “Ever since I joined their transferring task force from Arabian Sea, I witnessed Shaposhnikov being hostile toward Tributs daily. Yet, for some reason he mostly spared me. The ruckus you saw was more of because I have had enough of seeing him constantly being unfairly hostile toward Tributs. Zakharov... he did try his best to put some sense into Shaposhnikov but he totally wouldn’t listen. So from our short journey together... I’ll guess that he would aim to convince Spiridonov into siding with him. And he just wanted to prevent Tributs from forming a connection with Spiridonov as soon as possible.”

Before a verbal praise, a hand under white glove moved and patted Boyevoy’s spiky auburn hair. “Oh, my- little Sarych. You did well! Standing up for your friend during an injustice!”

“Thank you, sir,” there was a small smile that threatened to become a wide beam as the youngest unit of project 956 was delighted to be praised by such important member of the fleet. Spiridonov also joined in, “No, let me THANK YOU, Boyevoy. Thank you so much for standing up for Tributs.”

So now it was the one whom Minsk didn’t expect to be overwhelmed who actually suffered from that precise condition.

“And, um... let me thank you, too, brother. For... accepting me.” Quietly, the ‘victim’ himself also spoke up. Spiridonov himself rapidly turned his head to the source of that timid voice.

And he wrapped his arms around his Leningrad-born sibling, despite the difficulty of how two cases of missiles equipment were positioning right behind Tributs’ shoulders.

“Why wouldn’t I accept you, silly? You’re a Fregat. Then there’s no question you ARE my brother, no matter where you were born!” Tributs now became another individual assaulted by what could be described as ‘overwhelming’. He could only mouthed another sign of gratitude, “Thank you so much... brother.”

“It’s going to be fun watching that Shaposhnikov seeing all these.” Minsk mumbled with a tinge of sarcasm, “And tiring, definitely the TIRING part. Em, tell me no one in Kalinigrad taught you stupid stuff about prejudices toward Leningrad - sometime humans just really mess our head.”

“No, Commander, certainly NOT!”

“Zakharov, according to what you said, Boyevoy, he doesn’t hold such a negative opinion on Tributs, is it not?” inquired the largest unit of warfare android ‘born’ in Leningrad.

“You’re correct, sir. Zakharov has always protected Tributs for the duration of our entire journey. The seemingly ‘indifferent’ stance you saw today...I’d say because he’s already so tired of it.” 

“Mhmmm... you hear it, Commander! We’re saved from all-out ‘siblings war’ like one in Northern Fleet!!”

That overly cheerful statement earned a glare from the aircraft carrying type android with brown hair. “You want me to kick your rear, Minya!? We’re only ‘saved’ if none, void, zero of it actually materializes! So the problem with Shaposhnikov is real, and that’s no good!”

  


As the receiving of new members concluded, albeit not the way they expected things to turn out, Minsk barked an order to dissolve the gathering. Of course not without another condition as a caution, “Now you all realize. If you’re going to include Tributs in your activities, then that’s very nice of you. Just make sure to NEVER invite Tributs and Shaposhnikov to the same outing. Make up your mind and choose only one of them, not both! And be sure to spread this info to those absent from here as well. Dismiss!!”

Released by that command, the lower-ranked headed to different directions in accordance. The loud Sarych who now officially became an older brother in the fleet still kept up to his noisy standard by hollering at Spiridonov.

“Em, I’ll leave my silly Boyevoy under your care for now! Take him to the armaments storage with your brother, will you?” And the ‘local’ Fregat waved in acknowledgement with a quick ‘Sure’. Peace returned to the waterfront section of the territory under jurisdiction of the naval force... until the last three destroyers were about to move away toward the HQ building. 

Frunze was quick to intercept them, “You may want to wait for a while... maybe twenty to thirty minutes? Don’t forget WHO probably still lingers at the storage.”

“Oh, dear…” the second oldest 1155 groaned. Even if they might have reached the storage by many minutes ago, there was no guarantee that Shaposhnikov and Zakharov would shortly stay there to the usual approximately 10-minute session normally required to disconnect the armaments and equipment.

Their flagship gave them a scowl, “You three really proved to be birdbrained. Only Minya proved me wrong.” That was referring to the project names of each class represented at the scene - Frigate bird, Buzzard and Sea eagle. However, behind Minsk there was Novorossiysk who rolled his eyes at the judgment - the project 1143 was known as Gyrfalcon. So all of them here were equally ‘birdbrained’ to some degree…

Moreover, the older Gyrfalcon simply unconsciously hammered the point of his hypocrisy, “Fine, wait here. I’ll send Kosek to... OH.”

Rolling his eyes for the second round, the secretary of Pacific Fleet bit his tongue to stay nice in front of the newest members. Regretfully discarded whatever retort he had in mind to poke his older brother, he went easy and merely stating facts, “Right, you haven’t told Kosek to come back down from observing them out there yet.”

Thus it suddenly dawned to the rest of the androids why these two brothers took no action as a few things ‘abnormal’ things occurred right in front of them. They must have gained some intel from the Ka-27 unit who was sent out to observe and make first contact with the incoming group. Only because they wanted to confirm the intel they received with their own eyes before taking any further discipline.

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The war they talked about in the beginning is the [Soviet-Afghan War](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soviet%E2%80%93Afghan_War).


	10. Reason or Excuse?

  


Words on the newfound ‘interesting’ habit of the latest reinforcement spread like uncontrollable summer wildfire in Siberian taiga. While taking precautions not to try to correct Shaposhnikov’s behavior on their own, many of those who approached Shaposhnikov in turn were pleasantly surprised by his high level of dutiful attitude and rational, objective thinking.

...Though they could only wonder which sewage manhole that rationale suddenly dropped off into whenever there was something to do with ‘siblings’ and ‘Tributs’ appearing in the same space.

This new tension among members of the same fleet, the supposedly siblings even, also made its way to K-223 who stayed at the Zvezda Shipyard across the larger Ussuriy Bay through the second Orlan. 

But turned out ‘Boryushka’ and ‘Volodyaka’ weren’t always fighting. They were able to coexist within the same close space with relative peace, too. The catch was - for Tributs to act what many, judging by the standard siblings bond, would consider ‘cold and distant’ toward Shaposhnikov. The Fregat with reddish blond hair had clarified that he could perfectly tolerate Tributs just fine as a mere colleague. On the other hand, Tributs was either too dense, or too stubborn, to give up trying to mend that severed familial bond.

And... there were also Zakharov and Spiridonov, who tried hard to make their family one piece. Thus inviting the explosive reaction from Shaposhnikov every so often.

Some speculated that it was probably stemming from the clash of personality; Shaposhnikov with his somewhat overly matured and objective worldview, and Tributs with the more lax, goofy even. Evidently from many testimonies after interactions with the latter, the Leningrad born Fregat’s behavior was one of aspired comedic... except he downright had no future in it. Therefore, even while Tributs suppressed his approach with familial intention, Shaposhnikov often had this ‘get lost before I blow up in your face’ expression every time Tributs cracked an unfortunately not-that-funny joke around him.

Whatever feud it was between the Fregat androids born in different locations but commissioned in the same certainly didn’t expand to Tribut’s ‘step-siblings’ sharing the same shipyard as birthplace. Although Boyevoy suggested what he believed, the older Sarych was still skeptical. So what exactly caused this unwarranted dislike toward their ‘little frigate bird in a buzzard’s nest’?

After spending several weeks in vain trying to figure it out, the buzzard flock took the matter in their own hands.

  


  


“Intriguing.”

  


One word comment carried over by a deep, testosterone-filled voice however didn’t camouflage the lack of aggression. Lukewarm gray eyes also showed no notable interest to the fact that the bunch of Sarych androids - by now included the third representative, Stoykiy, who completed a transition later - intended to tackle the trouble that he saw no connection to them. They moved on to confront the problematic member of the project which designated to be their partners in combat missions - the Fregat would conduct anti-submarine warfare, while the Sarych would handle the air defence. But at the moment... they wondered if they could really cooperate with this individual?

At least, not until something needed to be clear up first...

“Have you ever contemplated of the possible consequence before coming ahead with this plot?” 

Well, originally Osmotritelnyy didn’t expect to utilize force nor aggression. Though admittedly the ‘hello, you’re stupid’ vibe he got from this Fregat member who was too rational for his age... slowly caught on him.

“Guh! Don’t try to get us with your bragging about being ‘rational’! Your treatment toward Volodyaka shows everything that contradict to it!”

Crossing his arms over the white uniform shirt and neatly done black tie, the same pair of indifferent gray eyes looked on past his ‘opponents’. Winter was growing weaker day by day at this time when the Sarych bunch finally confronted him. It was by now the year of 1988 and... Shaposhnikov wondered between his and these Sarych units’, was any different in advancement of the ‘emotion and psychological data’ installed in their inorganic brain? He later heard of their flagship’s comparison of ‘birdbrained’ and the frigate bird looked accusingly at the buzzards.

“I’m asking again - do you really think it’s worth it to expand the trouble, from merely between me and Tributs, to me and your entire class? Think again, buzzards. This injustice you wish to solve here might spawn a worse consequence than you can see it right now.”

“If you just hate anyone ‘born’ in Leningrad then it’s already no different anyway…” Boyevoy’s voice sounded noticeable strained. He himself found that accusation debatable but there was nothing else they could think might be the cause.

Level of absurdity in the claim summoned a motion to the shoulders of current youngest Fregat in the easternmost fleet. First they rose up, then rapidly dropped back down - a shrug. 

  


He swore if only artificial humanoid creations like them gained ability to breathe, he’d send a big, loud sigh back at them.

  


‘Birdbrained’... that particular word certainly flew back to his inorganic brain.

  


“Have you ever seen me disrespect Frunze until now?” those in black marine uniform shook heads. That was absolutely unthinkable. “And you guys, even now when it looks like you come to swarm me like some hooligans, do I even display any hostility?”

Well, it was true that there was no distinct hostility. Though, calling them ‘hooligans’ might qualify for some people…

Not a single direct response provided, and Shaposhnikov dove in, “I don’t hate Vovka because he’s from Leningrad, but because of his incompetence. Now get your fact straight.”

“Hey, don’t you think it’s too harsh to brand him as ‘incompetent’? It just goes against your effort trying to present yourself as not being ‘holier-than-thou’.” In a mirroring posture, Stoykiy also crossed his arms now while looking straight at Shaposhnikov.

And the counter began, “Then tell me what he had done during the four years since he awakens, which was two months before I was ‘born’. And yet, he was commissioned in February 1986, while I, three years apart by birthdates, got commissioned even earlier?”

“Come on, you do know that... at ours and Volodyaka’s home, he was unfairly neglected because our project was their priority? You can’t compare to your home where they only---” But it didn’t appear the Fregat who took the most pride over his origin actually take that into consideration. “So what? That’s beside the point.”

  


Osmotritelnyy’s face in fact looked exhausted at the ongoing debate. “Alright, wise guy. Then state it yourself!”

  


“The entire time before commissioning, what had he been doing? I refuse to let such guy with inadequate maturity and objectivity to impose himself over me as an older brother. It’s simple as that.”

Squeaking from the buzzard flock decisively died with a hard thud since they were unable come up with any other protest. To the fleet it had become an established fact now that... their Volodyaka was rather goofy in comparison to the hard-to-please younger Fregat in front of them. Emphasizing his point, ‘Boryushka’ kept rolling over the defeated buzzards, “If he only learns to shut his mouth about being my sibling, I can easily let him be.”

A swift wind blew from the sea eastward of the open area they gathered, tipping the white uniform cap. His hand was quick enough to secure his headwear before it would be carried away with the nature force. Sea breezes were no different... no matter it originated from the Baltic Sea or Sea of Japan.

“You guys... honestly I’d prefer it if we have this degree of pragmatism on a discussion over battle strategies than a personal matter. It’s not like I’m going to sink that guy if we somehow get assigned to carry out a mission together.” Though he then paused...

“And if I do, you can bet it’s because he doesn’t have the common sense to shut up about a personal issue during duty. And sadly I’d say he deserves it in that case.”

None of the Sarych androids uttered a thing, likely fearing that they’d only make more fools of themselves. The current supposedly ‘youngest’ Fregat slid his line of visual sensory over each of the three fellow naval warfare machines cladded in the black uniform, as if daring each of them to prolong the argument. When no more responses materialized, he concluded that the debate had ended.

They had reached a common understanding... or at least, the main force of Leningrad-born androids couldn’t conceive a better strategy to defeat their opponent. And for the time being... they decided against bothering themselves trying to correct the situation for their ‘Volodyaka’.

  


  


Hearing the outcome from his ‘step-siblings’, Tributs resigned to allowing Shaposhnikov to ‘win’ their struggle. He didn’t wish to drag the Sarych clan to enter this mess which should strictly limit to just him and Shaposhnikov. Based on that intention, Zakharov and Spiridonov were unquestionably unhappy about it.

The oldest brothers pair eyed a certain occasion in near future to push through their attempt to keep their family together.

In the end, they only got themselves yelled at by Minsk - for making the Pacific Fleet not-so-pacific anymore…

  


* * *


	11. Intruder from Yelizovo

  


He wasn’t yet familiar with the scenic visual surrounding his new ‘home’.

In central SSR Russia, where he was originally from, the geographic feature mostly comprised flat river plain. Some hills dotting here and there, some enormous body of water created by numbers of reservoirs straddled rivers. But Kamchatka was nothing like the main European part of the USSR.

Standing outside in a harsh wind from the Pacific Ocean, the newly deployed MiG-31 admired the trio of volcanoes directly visible from his assigned air base. ‘Gavriil’, as he was named, merely set his first step on the far northeast soil just days ago. However, he heard a few things regarding the division he was set to serve in advance. Among them was how this base failed the security protocol that almost pushed a head-on confrontation between the USSR and the other mighty state across this Pacific Ocean - United States of America.

  


By 1989, when he finally arrived to Kamchatka as an active combatant unit, fortunately the tension had deescalated significantly.

Yet, it still bothered Gavriil. The unthinkable mistake… even though it happened long before his deployment and he had no part in it.

Other aircraft androids served in this air base known by the name Yelizovo quickly caught a certain peculiar behavior of their new colleague. Gavriil preferred not to interact with human personnel. He mostly relied on them to carry the message for those humans, a habit they deemed because he wasn’t used to being closely cooperated with their mortal comrades.

What intrigued the older androids, though, was the newbie’s keen interest in learning the circumstance behind the ‘incident’ in September 1983.

One thing led to another. Eventually the topic shifted to the other military units also shared the Kamchatka Peninsula as the location of their home bases. That was when Gavriil learned of the name ‘Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy-50’ - the key base of the nuclear-powered submarine squadron.

  


“Wait, Gavrik! What do you think you’re going to do?!” A holler, laced with alarm echoed from a member of the aircraft android troop. Ever since they had been delivered to their place of permanent deployment, they readily adhered to the rules of conduct set for them. To venture outside of their was never something they thought of. And from the direction this MiG-31 android headed to… no one could expect it to be anything else.

The noise alerted the guards posted at the entrance of the base. With hesitation, they weren’t quite sure what to do either. “Hey! You can’t get out! Armament androids are never allowed outside the air base-“

“DON’T you dare try to order me around.” That harsh statement, coupled with an intense unfriendly glare from the blue lenses beneath eyebrows in the darkest shade of brown, halted the lower-ranked human personnel. It was such an uncommon stance that even the fellow androids were taken by surprise. “Gavrik?”

“I may be new but I’m not an utter fool. Armament androids are not allowed to mingle with civilians. But what if I intend to just go to another military base?” Declared the unit whose duty specialized in being a frontline attacker to the baffled guards.

Such an idea never included within the usual list of codes of conduct. The guards scrambled to answer, but they couldn’t - they needed authority from the top brasses in the base.

“Wait here, we need to ask the commander first,” again, the displeased expression crossed the face of the newest unit.

Inside the hastily built guard post, fingers swiftly dialed number to the commanding inside the base. He didn’t care to stay around while these ‘incompetent’ servicemen became out of their wit. A glance close by showed him a parked Ural motorcycle near the gate. Could be of use if these dimwit mortals would prove adaptable enough…

  


“I’m going to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy-50.”

  


There wasn’t even enough time for both other androids and the pitiful servicemen to question that destination. Right within the next second, those powerful legs rightfully belonged to a fighter jet unit leaped and sent the entire frame cladded in gray trousers matched with dark gray form-fitting top propelling forward down the road leading out of Yelizovo.

Without a doubt, chaos broke among the humans guarding gate.

“Shit, shit! Oh, fuck… he’s out!”

“Damn it! What to do… we can’t shoot him, right?!”

“Fucking- ugh… Guys! Cover for me if the commander get involved. I’ll follow him!” Someone among the group was wise enough to decisively make use of the vehicle available within sight. “Throw me the key! Quick!!”

Engine came to life with a growling hum. By that time the bullet-like moving figure of MiG android already pulled away by a few kilometers. A chase began, when the motorcycle darted from the fence separating the territory of the military property from the rest of the town. 

This was a rash decision. Gavriil himself knew that much. He needed to visit the submarine base for his own sake. Running at a speed of over a hundred kilometers was still ‘slow’ for him, whose take-off speed went much higher. But on this rural road cutting through the hills and wood, with curves and potholes, going faster than this would give him less time to react in case of emergency. Animals such as deer could jump on the road and block his path. Also, possibly he needed to slow down if encountered intersection… maybe he indeed shouldn’t embark this journey this soon.

Even though the motorcycle already escalated to a top speed, the stark difference between the speed of a practical vehicle used for human transportation and warfare equipment was still extremely obvious. The daring serviceman from the air base couldn’t quite catch up with the ‘rogue’ android just yet. At most he could only try his hardest to maintain his sight on the dashing figure ahead of him. It was already fortunate, with the tough economy of the USSR as of late, the price of petrol and cars prevented local citizens from traveling extensively. The road leading south to the southern shore of the Avacha Bay was relatively empty. Only occasional public transportation seen coming from the opposite direction, transferring people to the regional capital where the submarine base owed its name to. 

From hundreds of meters away, he saw that unliving entity with human-shaped body slowed down, facing an intersection. This was a chance for him to catch up, yet out of fear he hesitated. What would become of him if he demanded the android to go back? Recalling the unusual hostile stance ‘it’ posed to his group earlier, the serviceman weighed his options; let ‘it’ fulfill the desire to reach the submarine base or comply to his duty and attempt to bring ‘it’ back to Yelizovo?

However, the unfamiliar android didn’t provide him much time to contemplate thoroughly, for ‘it’ soon darted to the left, heading to the route along the shoreline.

From the inner depth of his conscious, the serviceman from the Air Force began to fear. Not for the punishment for letting this android escape the base. It wasn’t his fault alone. To be precise, he feared for the unknown intention this unit headed to the submarine base. None of the aircraft androids display the curiosity regarding the submarine base before, even though cooperated many times with the submarine androids stationed there.

  


Before long, they approached the outer limit of the close military settlement. By this time the disobedient android decreased his speed enough for the Ural motorcycle to finally catch up. Even with the wind hitting him head on, the serviceman who just covered roughly sixty kilometers chasing the ‘runaway’ android yelled, “For fuck’s sake!! Isn’t this enough yet!?”

Gavriil offered no answer. In turn, his sharp blue eyes focused forward - the glimpse of the checkpoint was up ahead.

Despite both of the ‘visitors’ from Yelizovo slowing down, steadily they approached the checkpoint at the same time. A worried expression emerged from the mortal figure of the duo. He understood the mentality of the strangers meters ahead. They both acted the same duty after all… and he knew what would come next. As much as he at first irritated by this android’s unauthorized action, this time he needed to jump in to protect this problematic unit.

“STOP YOUR APPROACH!!!” A sharp order pierced through the late morning air. Firearms issued to the checkpoint guards readily at hand. He needed to act fast!!

“PEOPLE! PLEASE DON’T SHOOT!” Frantically the Air Force personnel yelled. 

“We’re from unit **** in Yelizovo! I have my identification with me and that…” finger pointed at the frame in front of the motorcycle. “He’s an android! Please leave him!”

  


The word ‘android’ halted the guards immediately. Although among them were mostly comprised of low-ranked men who would never work directly with them, their base also hosted a troop of similar entities. Taking the chance, the same mortal entity similar to the group in black marine uniform manning checkpoint to the submarine base sped up his transportation to reach them quicker and hastily fished for the identification he promised.

The local guards spent a scant time scrutinized and verified, “What brings you here? And that android even…”

“Honestly, I chase after this unit after he just randomly said he’s coming here and ran off. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. We only received him a few days ago!”

Gavriil, who didn’t cease his approach though slowed down to a walking pace by this moment, reached the physical barrier of the checkpoint. One man under the Navy’s authority, apparently bigger than his companions, moved to intercept the unfamiliar unit.

“Since you’re an android… we can’t harm you. But mind telling your intention? What does an Air Force unit want with a submarine base?”

“I want to get in. I want to see the submarines.” Announced the MiG-31, to the incredulous look from the servicemen of the Pacific Fleet. Dmitriy, as the poor guy chasing him after the air base revealed to be from his ID, shouted in frustration knowing such authentication was out of power of the people they encountered right now. “MiG-31, are you fucking crazy!? You can’t just make such a demand to other unit!”

What the human visitor from Yelizovo spoke was correct. And the guards of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy-50 expected it to resolve the situation at hand. Nonetheless, the newest android received by the Air Force completely ignored his fellow unit member’s reasoning. Like a knife, those blue eyes now stared a piercing look at the human ‘barricade’ preventing him from reaching his goal. Knowing this particular unit’s unfriendly attitude, Dmitriy quickly tried to save the strangers he knew might not realize the trouble they just stirred. While Gavriil so far hadn’t directly harmed any human personnel physically yet, the occasional threatening words… indicated he might do it with no problem.

“Could somebody escort him in? You can hold me here and contact the air base in exchange.” Confused, the marine uniformed figures questioned him quietly through their silent body language.

“Please! This is for your own safety! This unit is rather erratic interacting with humans. It would be best if you can take him to another android as soon as possible!”

“Ugh… we hope you’re right,” a member whose insignia on uniform informed he had the highest rank among those presented at the checkpoint reluctantly agreed. Such a strange occurrence. Not even he or his fellow group was sure what to do… and what punishment they would receive if the commanding level didn’t approve their method of handling it.

Two of the guards stepped out a few meters before the ‘intruding’ aircraft android motioned him to follow them. Meanwhile, Dmitriy moved to sit inside the guard post structure, voluntarily being held ‘hostage’ for the time being.

He secretly wished for everything to be ok.

  
  
  


“Interesting… never know androids have the want to get to know ‘others’.” Remarked one of the duo leading the aircraft unit deeper into the closed settlement.

Gavriil didn’t make a command for his oral section of the head structure to move. There was no point making a chit-chat with ‘meaningless’ humans. Here, he only wished to see his own ‘kind’. From behind the ‘guides’, the MiG-31 observed the surroundings, hoping to catch any other android as soon as possible so he could ‘ditch’ these unwanted watchful eyes over him.

To his disappointment, they didn’t come across any android soon enough. It only happened when his patience almost completely depleted… over 10 minutes into the entering to the base.

  


“K-441? Are you free?” Finally the humans in marine uniform waved at a figure cladded in all black clothing.

Well, not really. There were sections with a rusty red color in the middle, vertically across the chest that couldn’t be seen from the back. Noting from how the men addressed him with ‘inhumane’ name, Gavriil trusted this was another android.

As the approaching android walked over to them, the difference in attitude between these two units was a striking contrast. “Hi guys, how can I help you?”

“How to explain this,” the local guardsmen gestured toward the compact frame in gray trousers. “This one here is an android from Yelizovo, you know, the air base. He said he wants to meet submarine. Can you entertain him while we wait for the higher-ups of both forces to solve this?”

In a bobbing movement, locks of hair in a color resembled a mixture of ash and dirt acknowledged the request. The taller android shifted his gaze to Gavriil, partially for reassuring, partially of curiosity. Unbeknownst to Gavriil, this ‘K-441’ unit had seen his distant family member before… back in the Northern Fleet. The ‘local’ unit then readily took the responsibility of the guards’ shoulder, “No problem.”

“Okay then. Promise you won’t raise a trouble. Got it… MiG-31, is it?”

“I don’t plan to, of course. But don’t think it’s because I adhere to the likes of you.” That unwarranted aggravation surprised even the member of the ‘same kind’. K-441 quickly moved to block the path between the visiting unit and his human comrades, distracting Gavriil.

“Come on, leave them back to their post, shall we? Would you mind telling me the reason you want to meet us submarines?”

Long until the two men who escorted him into the base departed far enough that Gavriil maintained his hostile glare on them. Soon as they vanished among the rows of building, finally, to the puzzled submarine android, the new unit he just met changed his demeanor instantly as if taking off a mask glued to his face. That overconfident facade fell out, unveiling a softer, less threatening persona of the MiG-31.

“It was a rash decision. I’m terribly sorry, K-441, if that is your name. To have to rope you into this while you may have business to carry…”

“Business to carry?” Amused, the submarine android showed the visitor what was in his hand… newspaper and some magazines. “Nah, I’m free. Just came into the town to buy these. Naval base isn’t so interesting, trust me. And most of us submarine androids laze around like basking walruses when we’re not out on duty.”

Maybe the host attempted to lighten the mood, yet Gavriil saw it as being improper to find the last statement amusing. He was face-to-face with a submarine android he wished for now, what’s next?

“I’m a new unit assigned to Yelizovo air base. My name is Gavriil, belong to MiG-31 project…”

Surprisingly, the host nodded and softly mouthed, “Yep, I could figure from your uniform you’re MiG-31.” When the recently arrived unit directed his quizzical eyes at the taller unit, K-441 had a grin on his face. “Saw one of your earlier commissioned brothers in Murmansk before I received a transfer order. I was in the Northern Fleet until last year.”

“Ah,” lost of words, Gavriil snapped a tight control over his bodily expression not display a disappointment. Certainly he wasn’t coming here looking for anyone in particular but…

  


“So you weren’t here in 1983.”

  


Though it was a brief response, K-441 knew what the young android meant to refer to. For that year… nothing else could have matter more. Nothing else could affect the entire state worse. They were just steps away from a full-blown nuclear war confrontation with the nation they considered arch nemesis if they didn’t thread around each other carefully.

“Yes, fortunately… maybe,” the unit whose primary duty performed underwater took an interest in the topic brought up. Why would a unit from Yelizovo specifically asked about it?

“I was in Murmansk back then. I couldn’t tell you the level of tension this base experienced at the time. My colleagues here relayed the tales to me often. But if you really want to know about it though…” those hazel-colored lenses belonged to the larger frame slipped to a direction to the north of where they stood. “My own brothers suffered from it directly. One even made us worried sick all the way to the Northern Fleet because he was in the middle of the transition from Arctic to Kamchatka when that incident happened.”

Gavriil’s expression lit up for a quick second, then calmed down soon after because he recalled how unreasonable he had already been. It wasn’t quick enough to escape the older submarine-type’s watchful observance.

“Tell me why this interests you so much. I can take you to see my brother. The one suffered an accident in transition during that incident”

“I…” how weird would it sound to the other? Would it peck him for being childish, unrealistic even, to try to take responsibility over the past on his own?

  
  


Back at the checkpoint to the entrance of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy-50, Dmitriy was visibly restless even though the guardsmen in service of the Navy didn’t put him through any hardship other than forbidding him from venture further into the base. The circumstances intrigued some of them. Usually, androids from different forces might only interact under the event of joint war game or navy exercise. But for android, to request to meet another without an order but under its own will?

“...Those guys who escort MiG-31 still not back. Are they going to be all right…” the serviceman wearing uniform of the air force feared for the worst. From 1983 onward, his unit seemed to suffer a major loss of trust in the eyes of the Navy. Would this incident further strain their cooperation?

“Is that MiG one so bad? Like, he has some kind of malfunction he’s a danger to us humans?” Asked one of the men manning the checkpoint.

“Malfunction, probably not. But… he’s definitely strange.”

A shrieking ring of telephone materialized just then. Somebody soon eliminated the noise pollution by picking it up promptly. The guy who attempted to chat up with Dmitriy then drifted his gaze for a short while before spotting the two who went with the android.

“Here they are. Looks pretty indifferent from when they left, right?” Prodded the local who thought the air force personnel worried too much. 

Before Dmitriy himself could fully examine the returning duo, the telephone handset was poking his way. “Your commander, you better talk with him quickly, man,” warned the one who picked up the connection from the other base inland. With a shaky hand, he took over the handset.

He couldn’t imagine the commotion back at his own base. A unit was lost, and he who supposed to track it went silent as well. How furious his commander could be right now…?

  


* * *


	12. Into the Submarines' Den

  


“Hey, who is that you bring back, K-441?”

  


Since the first voice greeted him at the dormitory of submarine android division was heard, Gavriil gradually grew nervous by the number of attentions showered at him as the first ever ‘non-navy’ unit to barge into a territory of underwater defenders. He was grateful for K-441 to assist his quest to settle in the Far East, nevertheless not expecting to be taken right into the main turf of the most mysterious type of warfare androids. 

“I’m taking MiG-31 to K-433. You guys can tag along, especially if you went through that thing back in 1983.”

That explanation alone intrigued most of the units inside the dorm. K-433 was probably the one who faced the biggest consequence of that incident. And what did this aircraft type want, requesting to meet him?

“I think it’s noble of you to try to mend the rift, Gavriil. Too bad I’m not one to have a say whether we accept your intention.”

Staircase after staircase led the pair up to the fourth floor. Although this base practically built on a small cape, the view they saw outside of the window was not the rippling surface in Avacha Bay. Instead, it was a low hill, a supposed ‘backbone’ of this tiny geographic feature surrounded by water.

Sporadically, the stranger in the naval base glanced back, catching a growing horde of fellow androids - all worn tight, form-fitting pit black wetsuit as their upper clothing.

At last, his ‘guide’ took him to a room on the far end of the right wing on this floor. Using his fingers to feel the wooden door, K-441 then just knocked the door wide open with his knee, for it merely left unlocked and slightly ajar. “Hey, kid…” he barked into the room where there was two figures laid on each bed occupying the space next to the windows. One figure, the one earlier seen engrossing with a book, sprung up to look at his barging sibling.

“Bro! Have some consideration to my roommate! Don’t just barge in as if I stay here alone-” protested the unit Gavriil noticed the similarity between his and K-441’s uniform.

The older brother was nonchalant to that arguing. “Cut it, K-433. Your roommate doesn’t complain one bit. We’re all non-human, do we really need what… ‘privacy’? Huh, in fact they should remove all doors here. Life will be much more convenient then.”

Through the doorway, the ‘squid’ with hair several shades redder than his brother’s noticed the suspicious crowding outside of his room. “Wait, wait- what now? Why do you bring that many people to my room?” 

“You’re… you know, I don’t quite believe about what humans call ‘luck’. Somehow it looks like… that abstract factor ties itself to you?” K-433 still couldn’t fully comprehend his brother’s almost philosophical ramble. “Hitting your head under the ice… at the time when war nearly broke out,” K-441 shook his head. “And now, you have a special guest who specifically asks to see you because of that.”

  


Uh… did the submarine, whom Gavriil considered as the one he spent the longest time with, need to go with such ‘grand’ introduction? It made the new, green horn aircraft unit want to hide.

  


“Who??” 

“Ah well, here you go, mate.” Followed the cue, Gavriil emerged from behind the older squid who invaded his younger brother’s peaceful living quarter without guilt. “Meet Su-31, my silly 433,” wait… WHAT??

Innocently, the submarine android who obviously shared sibling bond with K-441 rose to greet the guest. 

“Hello, Su-31. A pleasure to meet you. What a surprise… you are an aircraft android, right?”

Gavriil nodded, yet still too baffled to greet the person he wished to see back. If he did… would that just confirm the false identity K-441 suddenly bestowed on him? “I, err… my human name is Gavriil. Please call me by that name if it’ll be easier for you.”

“Of course, if you prefer so, Gavriil.” K-433 still hadn’t taken clue of his visitor’s hesitation. He continued, trying to make a good first impression, “I never knew there’s already Su-31. You must be a new deployment to Yelizovo? And Su-15 must be glad to have you with them here.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there.” Conceded the unit with very dark brown hair.

Uh oh… how should he correct this misunderstanding? Su-15 might be glad because he came to help them defend the sky over Kamchatka, but that was all. Those snooping ‘extras’ outside of the room started whispering among themselves. They thought K-441 called their visitor ‘MiG’ earlier, wasn’t it? Did they register it incorrectly? K-441, being one who met this stranger first, should know details the most…

  


And the next thing they knew, K-441 interrupted the ongoing conversation. “All right, stop.”

  


Both parties of the barely taken off verbal communication did just that. All eyes settled on the unit who didn’t quite shake off the ‘newbie’ status himself, having merely relocated here a year ago.

“Gavriil is actually from Mikoyan i Gurevich clan. Not Sukhoi.” 

Lots of body gestures materialized among the submarines at once, most of them to convey confusion. An expression, a mixture of horror and embarrassment crossed the face which stood out having an off-centered nose. “But?? You said he’s a Su yourself???” objected the younger squid who had been at this base five years longer than his older sibling.

Shrugging, K-441 went on with an explanation, “You see now how submarines like us hardly know a thing about aircraft? My dumb kiddie bro here doesn’t even realize Su-31 doesn’t exist.”

“You don’t have to be so intimidated by us. We’re not the best nor greatest type among androids like you picture, Gavriil.” After their short chat along the way to the dorm, K-441 listened to an unproportional faith the one with the ability to fly faster than the speed of sound had in them, merely for the fact that submarines type was the only one with the capability to swim. “Relax and, we appreciate your genuine interest that you came all the way from Yelizovo to meet us face-to-face.”

“Now before I go,” continuing to put on a ‘wise man’ act, K-441 announced to the nosy onlookers crowding in front of K-433’s room

“Gavriil came to learn about the incident in 1983. If like me you weren’t here at the time, get lost and don’t derail his conversation.” Several groans of disappointment emitted from the group as several figures departed. One more time, the unit with darker hair than that of his sibling intruded into the room, whispering to the room owner pair in a faint voice.

“Keep it short if you will. The Air Force likely gets involved soon.”

With a light pat on the visitor’s shoulder, K-441 slipped out fluidly, returning to his own assigned living quarters. Gavriil took a brief look at the departing unit, then whispered to the younger squid he was left with.

  


“Is… is he annoyed or…?”

“Nah,” a slight head shaking preceded further explanation. “He’s… well, can be a bit of a troll if you’ll say?”

“That aside, what do you want to know about the incident in 1983, Gavriil?” Someone from the onlookers group ushered conversation to the point. For whatever reason, K-441’s warning of ‘the Air Force gets involved’ couldn’t be good…

“Um, as you probably know. I just relocated to Yelizovo this week…” even though when he left Yelizovo, the MiG-31 knew very well what his intention was, in the atmosphere of directly facing the people who suffered from the consequence of his unit’s failure… he unexpectedly struggled. “How-how much… were you disappointed by the failure committed by my unit? I need to understand it so… I hope to correct that mistake if I could.”

Silence. And his struggle suddenly became as if it weighed a thousand times heavier.

“Please… please accept my apologies. I’ll work hard to ensure something of such nature will never happen again.”

The roommate who got thrust into this abnormal situation also survived that breakout of tension. He was the first to offer some insight, “Look, Gavriil. As someone who was here on that day… not gonna lie those of us who experienced it were certainly furious.”

“At first we didn’t expect it to be so serious. You know, the Americans snooped on us again.” Chimed another in the crowd, to the growing agreeing murmurs. “Too bad the two who were the angriest are not here anymore. Commander retired four months ago, and K-223 is out for mid-life repair near Vladivostok since mid-1985.”

“Oh yes, remember the Commander broke his metallic clipboard into half and threw it across the room when he rounded us up to inform the blunder?” 

Even K-433 was intrigued by some background information he only heard just then of what happened in the base while he was still out in the sea. At the same time, Gavriil braced for the onslaught of negative feedback he was about to hear further. What he expected… didn’t quite occur.

“But even so, it’s more of humans’ fault, isn’t it? Aircraft androids have no business repairing malfunction radar.”

“Did they send our Su-15 to chase that plane? Considered how they must have been informed much later from when that plane breached the air space… can we really blame Su-15?”

“The unit that shot down the plane belonged to Sakhalin base… despite that, without an order from human commander he shouldn’t have the ability to shoot it down on his own.”

  


Various telltales from the long-time members steadily added up to a bigger picture. The MiG-31 took it all in, memorized… records all the info into his databank. He just needed one exact confirmation… “so from your opinion… the primary factor in that mistake.” Short pause, and when his voice found itself in the opening again, there was a change in tone, “because humans in my base messed up?”

Nods and echoing ‘da’ reflected his fellow war machines’ analysis. He went and prodded deeper.

“Do you mind… telling me the level of anxiety you went through? For the possibility of war and… increased tasks they put you through?”

“Well, most of us found it ridiculously absurd, you know. To head into war because of some blunt mistakes by humans who… under normal circumstances aren’t even matter that much.” A unit in the far back growled, before adding, “I mean, they are what? Not supreme commander of a force. An ordinary civilian pilot? They shouldn’t have the capability to push this part of the world into a brink of war!”

“Hey, K-433. You’ve been too quiet. Tell him your part!” Urged a small unit whom his submarine bunch could immediately identify him as an attack type, but for Gavriil he couldn’t tell such a minor difference in classification.

“About my part, oh…” those gentle hazel eyes directed to their guest from the air base. 

“Please, if it won’t be too much.” pleaded the MiG-31.

“I must admit I didn’t know about it immediately. The disadvantage of traveling in a submerged position is the inability to communicate through radio waves. Thus… I only realized what had happened when I had the accident and needed to surface.”

Despite the calmness in the squid’s voice, all the gathered naval combatant units fell silent, everyone concentrated on listening to his ordeal.

“Without a doubt, the report of the tension put enormous stress on my system. I was at a disadvantage, too. If the American task force patrolled nearby, they were aware of the situation earlier than I did. From the site of the accident, it was impossible for me to go back to submerge position.” Processing what he was told, Gavriil reluctantly looked at K-433’s face. He confirmed it, “Yes, this damage on my face.”

“Let me cut in, guys,” requested one unit among the crowd.

“I remembered what happened here that day. Commander summoned three of K-433’s older siblings who were at the base that day. Turned out K-223 was shut in inside the commander’s office to prevent him from enacting unthinkable reckless decision. He wasn’t let out until K-433 arrived safe and sound.”

Without missing a beat, the main ‘victim’ of the infamous ‘September 1983 event’ verified that testament. “Yep, the detail I didn’t get to see myself. Thanks.” 

“I don’t doubt your brothers must be very concerned for your safety. There’s… so-called ‘submarine hunter’ type of aircraft, right?” Trying to imagine the risk the unit he talked faced in that situation, being on the surface hence easily fell ‘target’... Gavriil could understand why that ‘K-223’ unit acted erratic in such pressure.

“That’s true. I contacted both this base and back to the Northern Fleet right away. And, well, just like K-441 nagged me earlier, my luck must be superb. An old colleague, an attack submarine type who normally tasked with escorting wasn’t too far away in the Arctic. So for a few days I made no movement and tried to stay under the radar until he arrived and saw me off here.”

Sliding off his own bed, the other owner of the place poked his roommate’s mop of wavy dark auburn hair. “Consider all worst-case scenarios this guy could run into, arriving with a broken nose was the best outcome we could hope for.”

No one was willing to argue with that fact.

“Moreover, it’s great that androids like us never dream in ‘our sleep’. I don’t want to cope with him regularly having nightmares from that incident.” A wave of laughter reacted to that jibe.

  


But their conversation ended too soon. A voice preceded, before a figure who wasn’t within those crowding before K-433’s room stepped in to inform an order received through a phone call to the number belonged to androids’ accommodation. “Sorry, guys. Hey… the one brought here by K-441? There’s an order for you to return to the base’s checkpoint.”

Tsk… he knew it was coming. The residents of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy-50’s warfare androids’ dormitory went silent. Just like when he arrived, all eyes were on the 172-centimeter tall frame who didn’t belong here duty-wise. An annoyed expression settled down on Gavriil’s youthful face; they probably caught him at the worst time to call him back. After hearing all the info from the submarine base, decidedly he saw the humans of Yelizovo Air Base as the culprits of the major blunder that not only embarrassed the reputation of the Air Force but also put the androids serving their nation’s navy at risk.

“I see. Thank you for allowing me to learn the truth from your side. I’ll… see to it my base will never fail you again. No matter at what cost.”

As the ‘school’ of submarines moved to open the way for Gavriil, someone remarked, “I’m sure the older aircraft in your base didn’t want to fail us, too. It was just… humans being humans.”

“I won’t allow them to use that as an excuse. Believe me, I’ll make it happen. Even if I have to make those humans suffer”

Those were some worrying words, but most of the androids inclined to believe the MiG-31 wouldn’t actually make it happen. This was a mere newly deployed unit. With that fact, there were still so much he was yet to know - especially regarding androids’ relationship with humans in a work environment.

“Let me tag along and see you off at the checkpoint, Gavriil,” called K-433 before rushing to catch up with the leaving aircraft unit.

  


Climbing four storeys down to the ground, the pair who recently made friendship retraced the route K-441 took the visitor from Yelizovo to this five-storey block housing naval androids. It was close to noon, thus the base was still quiet before lunch break. Or to be frank… the base had become quieter. A few dozen of their old members in android department retired and gone. Turned out the prime source of androids’ death’ wasn’t even being destroyed in combat. Catastrophic economy did.

Guessing from Gavriil’s sudden change of mood, the submarine believed he was upset to be recalled before he heard everything he wanted. “If you still have more questions, bring them up. I’ll answer as many as I can during this walk.”

“Don’t you… despise humans, at least those from my base, for putting you in danger?”

This… K-433 was cautious to answer to. He found it appalling why his recent acquaintance so obsessed with the idea of blaming humans.

“No, I don’t.” He countered softly.

Gavriil lifted his eyes above the horizon to look at the sky with few clouds above. Their experience during the pre-commissioned days must be vastly different. 

“You must have been treated by them well,” he hoped it didn’t sound sarcastic. Had his earlier experiences been different, he might… yes, he could certainly see himself willing to follow the law of ‘humans first’ like the submarine androids he met today.

The shorter frame in a lighter gray tone clothing compared to K-433’s mostly solid black continued, “Look, I hold no ill feelings towards you for not knowing enough about aircraft androids. I’m the same when it comes to submarines type so we’re even.” To which the submarine unit with dark auburn hair nodded in agreement.

  


“Have you heard about… MiG-25?”

  


Spending a few seconds scanning all the database in his inorganic brain, the unit serving the Pacific Fleet admitted in defeat. “I only know the project name.”

“It’s ok, don’t worry about it,” reassured the aircraft new to Kamchatka. “The thing… MiG-25 units are untimely retired. They were supposed to serve in the Air Force for many years. But an unexpected incident happened.”

“Which is?”

Gavriil went on with a noticeably strained voice. “One unit was ‘put to sleep’ for maintenance but turned out the mechanic personnel made up his mind to defect from our state. He took that unit along, arrived in Japan and gave the ‘enemies’ the chance to examine that unit thoroughly.”

K-433’s facial expression reflected the dismay at the seriousness of situation materialized without his knowledge. But he caught a ‘keyword’.

“Japan? So that means… it happened in the Far East?”

“Correct, though it was… back 1976. If you aren’t aware of it, it’s not your fault.”

“It must have been difficult for you, having such an incident happened to your family.” 

“Well, long short story, after that MiG-25 units were grounded and gradually went out of deployment. Who want to risk using the project the enemies know too much about them, anyway?” This time Gavriil couldn’t suppress his snark, though it wasn’t directed at his conversation partner. He shifted to look at the taller figure next to him, “And, MiG-31 is the successor project, created to fulfill the lost potential MiG-25 doesn’t have chances to completely demonstrate. I don’t know about you, K-433. How submarines consider one a brother but for aircraft like me, different projects of the same origin aren’t necessarily considered ‘siblings’. I and MiG-29 are more like cousins, because we were developed from a different design plan.”

MiG-31 took a mercy and stopped to let the nuclear-powered unit processed that batch of information. When he was ready for further explanation, K-433 urged, “All right, please go on.”

“I’m directly related to MiG-25. MiG-31 used the same core element in design as MiG-25 as the basis of our project.” It was like a lightbulb lit up inside K-433. “The reason I say MiG-29 and I are… not related enough for siblings; MiG-29’s maximum speed goes around 2,400 kilometers per hour.”

“Wow, so fast!” Being a submarine meant he was built for more sturdiness than speed. To K-433 even anything in a hundred range sounded fast to him.

A slight smirk appeared on Gavriil’s face. “What would you say, my maximum operational speed is…”

  


“3,000 kilometers per hour or 2.83 machs?”

  


The reaction he got in return was his companion stopped his stride completely, staring at him in awe. What his inorganic brain calculated from that information left him agape.

“You… you can go from here to Vladivostok in even less than an hour?!” Gavriil walked up to pat the baffled unit’s back lightly, half amused, half smug by the received reaction.

Only if I fly at 20,000 meters from the ground. Up there the density of air is low enough to go faster than the blue sky we see down here. The sky is blue because there’s a high density of various gasses making up the air, you know.” 

“Wait… does that mean, at 20,000 meters…?” K-433 still hadn’t freed up his intense processing activities enough to ask coherently.

“At 20,000 meters it still isn’t too obvious, the absolute maximum height I can climb to is 35,000 meters. And there you can see a visible line between blue sky below and the edge of space - it was absolutely pit black like your top.” His own hand, also in a pit black-colored glove, knocked on the submarine’s robust chests. “Probably the same thing Yuriy Gagarin saw, I guess.”

They slowly moved closer to the checkpoint. By this moment K-433 could construct a clearer picture from what his Air Force visitor told him… regarding his dislike of humans.

“I guess I understand where you come from with that attitude toward humans. But, in the end, I believe we can only accept the fact that we’re created to serve them, no matter if we like it or not.”

“Maybe… or maybe we can push further to have more foothold for our kind. How will we know if we don’t even try?”

“Gavriil…” K-433’s voice lower down, indicating extreme caution. “No matter what, please do not go too far and actually harm them. Humans will get rid of you quickly if they think you’re a danger.”

  


Well, the checkpoint was within their sight range right now. And zooming in a little among the gathering frames of humans, the MiG-31 frowned. Looking ahead, K-433 also realized a big trouble awaited. With stark contrast to the usual selection of uniforms worn by navy personnel, the sole figure in dark, but still more vivid, blue military uniform stood out among the waiting crowd. Nearby was another figure in a black suit of navy commander.

“Had fun with your trip, Gavriil?” Sneered the colonel general who arrived by car. Dmitriy, who earlier chased the runaway unit, looked on from farther away, too fearful to even come closer.

“Why? Is it wrong for me to want to learn how your unit f\---ed up?” Gavriil didn’t hesitate to counter with even more hostility.

K-433 was troubled by the confrontation blowing as soon as the aircraft unit arrived, but his own superior walked up to him with a warning, “We’ll not interfere in their internal affairs, K-433. Although, you and your comrades may need to give info later of what he was doing in our base.”

“Yes, sir,” the obedient submarine complied, while worrying for his fellow ‘kind’. Would he view it as a betrayal that K-433 himself reverted to ‘humans first’ mentality as soon as they reached the checkpoint?

  


The explosive verbal confrontation went on, with Gavriil, though knowing fully well he had nowhere else to go on this peninsula, kept disobeying the order to return to Yelizovo Air Base. If he did so, he’d prefer to do on his own will - not from an order. The guardsmen were puzzling as to what they should do. By common sense, possibly they should assist in trying to subdue the rebellious android and hand him to the Air Force commander. But this was an android - one with enhanced strength thus easily break their bones in just one strike.

“See this unit who accompanies me back!? He suffered so much for our- no, YOUR, incompetency! How would you make up for the Navy, if the Americans attacked him because you stupid humans kicked up dust and almost brought a full-blown war here!!!”

Gavriil was on a complete rampage. Even K-433 himself wondered how the commander from the Air Force was going to bring MiG-31 under control again.

It appeared to the colonel general he had no other choice. He gave his navy counterpart a warning, “Vice-Admiral, I’m terribly sorry.”

  


“**************”

  


It was as if Gavriil’s entire body was taken over by a seizure. He lost control of his own body. His lower moveable half of his face wouldn’t react to to command he sent for it to maintain the verbal resistance. Although his eyes still recorded everything within his visual perception range in front of him, his hearing sensory meanwhile entirely ceased functioning. 

This… yes, he knew about it. Though never before he had seen it being utilized on any other android, let alone being utilized on himself.

“That was…” like Gavriil, the submarine unit also aware of it.

“Right,” his own superior confirmed, while looking at the air force’s unit who now stood straight up as if being bound by some invisible force. “Password control.”

The mentally exhausting colonel general wiped his face with a handkerchief. This was only the first step of all the troubles he would need to go through and scrutinized by the central commanding, and it was already this difficult…

“Again, please accept my apologies, Vice-Admiral. For having to do this in front of your android unit.”

It was a well-known protocol of warfare androids usage. To avoid triggering password control of one unit in front of another. If unavoidable, the witness unit also needed to have their own password triggered to erase the memory of the event to keep password in secret.

“I intend to change his password as soon as we arrive back in Yelizovo. Looks like I may need to go through hundreds of them if he’s this disobedient.”

The old man in his fifties then returned his focus on the unit under his authority. “MiG-31, now you return to Yelizovo. On your foot, set the speed to 50 kilometers. Keep yourself behind my car.”

“Ye-yes… sir,” with total loss of control, Gavriil could only walk to position himself after the vehicle of the colonel general, waiting for the car to move along the road before he would follow it as ordered. Dmitriy also positioned himself on the Ural motorcycle, ready to follow behind the problematic android as he was instructed when his superior expressed the plan to use the password.

“Submarine unit, I thank you for minimizing the chaos could have had materialized by my troublesome unit. Vice-Admiral, I wish you a pleasant day for the rest of today, if you’ll excuse me now…”

With that, the Air Force personnel with highest rank returned to the vehicle where his driver was waiting for instruction to return to their base. The lower-ranked one also started his motorcycle, briefly turned and gave a gesture of gratitude to his fellow guardsmen of a different branch. As the dark brown car pulled away, Gavriil finally moved his legs again to jog then ran after the vehicle. He couldn’t even force his head to turn and look back at K-433.

  


Therefore, this strangely eventful day ended for the personnel of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy-50 base.

  


“All right… time for us to go back inside, K-433.”

“Right away, sir.” 

The pair of one mortal and a non-human entity strolled the route leading to the core area of the base. The vice-admiral mumbled along way, “I know our Shaposhnikov is troublesome for the way he constantly fights with Tributs. Compared to what we see today though, Shaposhnikov is like a walk in the park.”

“For the fact that at least he never intended to harm humans, sir?” The answer was a quick, quiet nod.

“It’s very much different when android being hostile to humans. Your kind is intentionally built to be much stronger… we need a tight control to make sure ‘things won’t go wrong’.”

“That much I can understand, sir,” who wouldn’t fear for their life?

Glancing to their environment, seeing they had been steadily drifting farther from the group at the checkpoint and the lunch break was still minutes away, the human in black navy officer uniform signaled to follow the protocol. “Lean in, K-433. I’ll make it quick.”

And the unit with dark auburn hair readily complied, “Yes, sir.”

“You’re an obedient kid but you understand I need to do this.”

“I do, sir. Please do not worry.”

  


* * *

  
  


“How it’s going, K-433? Was it really bad?” 

  


The crowd who earlier surrounded the younger ‘squid’ rushed in to greet him after K-433 stepped back into their living accommodation. The returning one opened his mouth to answer… but paused.

“Well? Tell us quick! Is Gavriil okay? Did he return to Yelizovo??” Questions fired at him almost like a machine gun, yet… it still took K-433 several seconds to form a coherent answer. “Um, yeah. He returns to Yelizovo… the commander there came in a car to pick him up.”

“Ouch… the poor guy. So he… came here without an order?”

“His commander must be super livid, I bet. But… I don’t know. From his last words, I have a feeling Gavriil is not the type to be so obedient? Are you telling me he just… accepted his commander’s order and rode back to the base in the car?”

Once more, K-433 prepared to answer but… nothing came to him with that exact detail.

“Er… I know he did return but I don’t remember how? Trust me, he did return \- with nothing worse than some verbal sparring with his commander.”

  


“Oh, dear…” it finally dawned on the other submarines what exactly happened. Poor Gavriil and K-433...

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The incident regarding the leaking of classified information of MiG-25 referred to [this person's defection](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viktor_Belenko) but modified to fit the concept of this universe.


	13. The War Intensified...

  


“Greetings, can you confirm you’re in contact? Admiral Vinogradov? Burnyy?”

  


Once again, it was Kuzma who got sent by his direct superior to conduct recon mission and provide direction to yet another wave of reinforcement to the most powerful fleet among states in East Asia. Unlike the last time he saw a similar composition of the task force with figures cladding in a white uniform shirt and black tie and black marine uniform, this time there were just two figures.

“Affirmative, we hear you loud and clear. Thank you for coming to receive us.” 

‘Kosek’, as he was called by anyone but the newbies, enhanced his visual to over a hundred meters below him against the deep blue sea water, zooming in on to the pair. With a hand touched the communication equipment attached to his ear, the response likely came from the Fregat. 

The voice the Kamov just heard was incredibly dissimilar to the previous units of Fregat androids already deployed in the fleet. Zakharov’s voice was rather stiff, Spiridonov usually sounds more loose but still controlled and hardly ever varied in tones to indicate clear emotion. As for the two ‘warring’ youngers, Tributs’ was rather croaky, which was probably contributing to why his jokes fell flat most often and Shaposhnikov had a booming, deep masculine voice which contradicted to his status as the youngest... until now. For this newcomer he was lending assistance, his voice fitted perfectly to what he was - a new and young android. It was such a gentle, even-tempered and a strangely quality of ‘boyish’ in it.

“Understood, welcome to the fleet! I’m Kuzma and we’ll be seeing each other more often during ASW exercise task. Personally I belong to our flagship, Minsk.” 

One more time, that pleasant youthful voice responded to him, ”A pleasure to meet you, Kuzma. May I ask... if my brothers will be happy to see me?”

Shoot, that wasn’t something the tiny frame attached to equipment which granted him flying power utilizing rotor blades could answer ‘to the full condition’. However, as so not to be suspicious, he gave out a rapid response, “Yes, definitely! They all look forward to meeting you!”

Inside, Kuzma was eaten by a sort of anxiety. The poor guy, there was going to be ‘problem’ because they all ‘looked forward to it’.

  


A little over ten minutes later, the incoming pair cleared the last turning point before adjusting direction to enter the narrow channel leading up to the Golden Horn Bay.

“I’m glad I’m going to meet my older brothers at last.”

“You haven’t met two of them, right, Nikolka? Although he’s not my project but I hate to say I know Volodyaka for sure. It’s a privilege of being ‘born’ in the same shipyard!” goaded the shiny new Sarych in a black uniform with a playful tone. “Let’s see who he will come to greet first!”

That failed to incite any negative reaction from his ‘travel buddy’ though, as Vinogradov was too unworried by such fact. “Sure, I’d not be offended if he reaches for you first, after all, he knew you and it’s only fair. The same way I’m more familiar to Shaposhnikov and Zakharov because I saw them for a short while before they transferred.”

Conversation ceased as they now could see the HQ building a few kilometers away. But yet, Vinogradov whispered his last thought before each of them would be swarmed by their own siblings and probably wouldn’t have a chance to chat again for several hours the soonest.

“I envy you for that, Burnyy... having the opportunity to ‘grow up’ with a member of a different project. If I didn’t have to leave Kaliningrad this year, I might have... experienced that, too. At my home shipyard, they had started the creation of the project 11540 Yastreb frigate androids. Looks like my younger siblings will get to join that kind of relationship.”

  


  


Their first steps on the Far East land was certainly a vibrant landmark to the atmosphere in the fleet. For a reason that Vinogradov regretted deeply, yet he absolutely had no control over it. Some dubbed it ‘the moment when a Typhoon makes direct landfall in the middle of Vladivostok’ due to the destructive nature of the entire situation unfolded right after.

Ironically, ‘Burnyy’ who came ashore at the same moment with his Fregat buddy had nothing to do with the shift for the worse, even though the name he bore meant ‘storm’.

  


“Get lost, Vovka! Don’t come near MY brother! You have nothing to do with him!”

  


The feud which appeared to have subsided for a year erupted with an intensity of the most frightening, explosive nature similar to that most recent devastating eruption of the fame Tolbachik Volcano in Kamchatka in 1975.

Scale of uproar was far more severe than the first time Shaposhnikov and Tributs let their rivalry be known almost two years ago. At this time, Tributs no longer backed down and let the furious proud Kaliningrad native told him what to do any more. Fine, he might have let him taste the victory before but this time he was keen to be part of Vinogradov’s family - unless the youngest said otherwise. And behind, cheering him to struggle for his rightful place in the family were both Zakharov and Spiridonov, whom by now took a strong stance to support Tributs.

Vinogradov himself recalled how Zakharov and Shaposhnikov were rather close when he saw them together just months before they would both depart for Vladivostok. But this situation... with Zakharov shouting in frustration at Shaposhnikov, the whole degree of mutation in their relationship baffled the newest Fregat to his core. 

  


“I and Em won’t stand any more of this nonsense, Boryushka! You’re committing a disgrace to our entire class!” that was surely harsh criticizing, and yet Shaposhnikov didn’t budge.

  


With his hand firmly secured around Vinogradov’s left wrist, the Fregat with reddish blond hair whose temper at this minute flawlessly matched that color in intensity stared down at his main opponent - the Leningrad-born Fregat. In desperation and bewilderment, the clueless youngest protested, “Boryushka? Why…? Why do you fight with Miki big brother now?! And what did I do to cause this!?”

Away from the main maelstrom of this welcoming-went-very-wrong, Burnyy was surrounded by his own older siblings, looking on with astonishment in his eyes. 

“Bros? What happens here?!” of course this sudden flare of hostility never existed in the common database before. Collective exchange of incoherent mumbles preceded the factual explanation, “Just something utmost stupid. Our Volodyaka has so far been bullied... by that guy.”

It was clear the Sarych units who knew the root of this discord were ready to ‘mobilize’ to help their cross-project sibling. Like the bird of prey they bore its name as their project name, three pairs of fierce blue eyes zeroed on their opponent, ready to butt in to rescue Tributs if Shaposhnikov ever decided to escalate the conflict from mere verbal to physical. Although, the situation might depend on how Vinogradov would decide of their ‘Volodyaka’.

If Vinogradov somehow accepted to join Shaposhnikov’s side, that would immensely change the balance of this battle regarding ‘lineage’. Zakharov and Spiridonov would find themselves in a more difficult position.

  


“Alright, Boryushka!! It’s time to stop this!!!” 

  


Tremendous voice with authority washed over the scene of mayhem. Yet, rather than the highest commander among androids they expected to see stepping in to halt this madness, the imposing stature closing in with absolute determination to bring peace back to his fleet was Frunze. For most others, the sight of the second Orlan would be enough to halt any ongoing conflict. For Shaposhnikov, despite the respect he had for the mediator, Shaposhnikov refused to step back obediently. He was well aware that although Frunze was the larger unit compared to him, until Minsk delegated authority to this unique nuclear powered android among the surface ships, Frunze had no rightful command to tell anyone to do something.

“Please stay out of this, Frunze. You have no right to tell me what to do regarding my own brother.” His steel glare at Tributs still maintained. 

“How about you ASK Vinogradov first? You demand your right but you didn’t give your own younger brother any as far as I can see!” Countered by a more concrete logic, the Fregat who prided himself for being rational spared a look at his overwhelming younger sibling. Evidently from his expression, he just wanted to get out of this mess no matter what choice given to achieve that.

“Nikolka?” that voice while not indicating any particular sense of anger, still bore enough expectant.

The center of the storm who had no idea what the fuss was all about tugged his wrist inside Shaposhnikov’s grip. “Please...let me go. I understand none of this. I can’t give you an answer now.”

Another hand was offered toward the confused android, the one in a white glove. “Come with me, Vinogradov.”

“Where will you take him to?!” instinctively, he snapped at the Orlan, fearing the fellow ‘Leningradskiy’ would hand his younger sibling to Tributs. Nonchalantly, Frunze just cocked his head with his hand gestured toward the most important building on the base behind them. When several pairs of eyes followed the initiative, they stopped dead at the sight on Minsk, who was supposed to be in a meeting with human commanders, watching the commotion through windows.

  


“Commander asked me to bring Vinogradov to him in order to stop this ruckus. Are you disobeying flagship’s order, Boryushka?”

  


Gritting his artificial teeth made of syndicated material, eventually the headstrong Fregat gave in. Vinogradov’s face was visibly grim; being summoned by the flagship for a trouble he somehow unknowingly triggered wasn’t the first day in a new fleet he wished for.

“So sorry to clash your party, guys! But a welcome party isn’t meant to turn into a brawl... so it’s best to end it as quickly as possible.” The black-haired unit of project 1144 announced the cue that all of them should disperse, then prompted the newest member of project 1155 to follow him onward toward the HQ building. 

Even if Vinogradov didn’t look back, he could hear the noise as Zakharov and Spiridonov rushed to chastise Shaposhnikov’s willful rejection to cease hostility toward Tributs.

  


Not until they reached a staircase inside the building, where there were a series of walls blocking the view of their presences from those outside, that Frunze pulled the cheerless newly reinforcement to a halt. Clinging to the wall encased the stair, the unit in a unique cream-colored uniform informed their fifth Fregat of the happening. “Cheer up, Vinogradov. Commander didn’t ask for you. I lied, just use his name to make sure Boryushka won’t continue his resistance.”

Another pair of gray eyes, slightly differed in shade from Frunze’s own, widened in disbelief. “But! Won’t that get you in trouble?!” using the flagship’s name without actual order was such unthinkable circumstance.

“True... I don’t think my neck will be completely safe. There will be discipline order to a certain degree... but well, I’ll take it. There is nothing I hate more than fighting within the fleet.” Frustrated Frunze hit the back of his head against the concrete wall enclosing the staircase, sending a soft echoing noise upward. “Now tell me, Vinogradov. After you awakened, they... the engineers in Kaliningrad didn’t make you learn human social behaviors by watching TV, did they?”

“No??” such a strange assumption puzzled native of the USSR’s westernmost region.

“Somebody accused Boryushka learned this nonsense ‘illegitimate child’ thing he often threw in Tributs’ face from a soap opera. And we were afraid you might be ‘infected’ with the same weird attitude.”

  


“Huh... wonder who started that. Those Sarych siblings maybe?”

  


Another voice spiraled downward from flights of stair above. Heavy footsteps preceded, until finally the two who took refuge inside saw who barged into their conversation... the fleet secretary, Novorossiysk. The unit with matching light brown shade of hair to that of the newest project 1155’s descended to join in the ‘secret’ talk. “Minsk supposed to send me down to break the whole thing up, but looks like I’m slower than you, Minya.”

“Now that you have heard the entire secret anyway... supposed I’ll at last get my rear kicked by your brother? He has screamed that at me several times already.”

“Ah well... who knows? Discipline should be on the way but since it’s done for the greater good... hmmmm.” The green-blue lenses swept over their fleet’s most recent addition.

“If you don’t harbor the same belief as Boryushka, then that’s good. I’m sure Zakharov and Spiridonov will fill you in later. I expect that Boryushka’s rage will go up by several folds if you choose to be familial-bonded with Tributs. Even so, I’d rather limit the opponents to just those two, not adding you and Tributs to another match-up in the list.”

“Just to be on the safe side, since Minsk sent you to deal with him anywhere... how about you take Vinogradov to the armaments storage wing? Boryushka is getting more and more bold. He now even tells me I have no right to tell him what to do regarding his own brother... wow.” Hand under white glove clumsily mimicking a message motion on his own shoulder underneath the long blue cape. Another unit with similar physique nodded, “Sure, I guess my status as Minsk’s brother will be of some use in this case.”

“Only for being Minsk’s brother is enough to intimidate Boryushka, but not the being secretary part??” the unit with darkest hair prodded playfully.

“Admit it, Minya. You don’t even have respect for me on that aspect yourself.” A gentle, defeated tone escaped the third unit of project 1143 before he gestured for Vinogradov to follow him.

  


* * *


	14. Ice Cream on One Spring Day

  


After the outbreak of hostility on the first day, Zakharov and Spiridonov always flunk side-by-side to watch over their youngest sibling. They were quick to steer Vinogradov clear of the warring Fregat units with different origins whenever a new fight broke. Although he had already heard all the basis of this confrontation, the poor, innocence android still couldn’t understand why it had turned into such a big deal. And he wanted to help the eldest brothers solve it.

Thus, against their advice, one day in late spring, Vinogradov asked both Shaposhnikov and Tributs to stroll around the adjoining area of Vladivostok’s city center together. The atmosphere wasn’t too peaceful since the start as the envious one with reddish blond hair kept pushing his opponent anytime he felt the Leningrad unit got too close to their youngest. But so far, ten minutes without direct verbal altercation should be a good sign?

From the beginning, the pure, good-hearted Fregat begged for his older brothers to be tolerate toward each other for the time being. He wanted nothing more than to enjoy a day with them together.

  


“The queue is certainly getting longer…” Shaposhnikov commented as the trio strolled past a butcher shop on the main street. In the culpability of all money wasted in the failed invasion of Afghanistan, the economy within the USSR suffered sharply. Poverty was widespread, monetary value dropped and the living condition of people took a turn for the worse.

On the contrary, an ice cream stand not so far away was practically empty with no patron. After all, between meat and ice cream, the latter was by now considered ‘inessential’ for the living situation.

“How sad…” Vinogradov’s gentle tone trailed off. “At our home before I left... it’s the same. Economy is dying everywhere. People are suffering, partially for us... because the government excessively allocated so much budget to construct more and more of us. Brothers, I ‘feel’ we owe these people some... thing. I don’t know exactly what it should be but... let’s make their lives a bit easier?”

Double pairs of gray eyes watched their youngest sibling crossed the Leninskaya Street to the lonely ice cream stand. It was apparent that their little brother’s inorganic brain had gone through upgrade of more sophisticated emotion data and enhanced social initiative. ‘Nikolka’ communicated with the aged lady owning the stand with ease and before long, returned with three identical chocolate chips ice cream cones. He chirped as his feet took him back to where the two older units were waiting, “Can you believe it? We’re her first patrons for today!”

  


After that, their slow journey resumed, moving along the western edge of the Golden Horn Bay toward the terminus station of the famed Trans-Siberian railway. They noted the drab and lifeless ambience the city slowly but surely descended to.

But before long, Shaposhnikov ruined the day, yet again.

Because of the cracks on pavement, Tributs was uncertain whether his own weight of several hundreds kilograms would add more damage to the disrepair surface. Automatically, he altered his course closer to Vinogradov to avoid the spot. However, without taking the condition of their path into consideration, Shaposhnikov’s free hand was quick to shove Tributs back ‘to the distance he belonged’.

In doing so, because the Leningrad-born unit was concentrated on avoiding the obstacle on the ground, he was caught off guard by the force of that shoving. Somehow, the barely eaten chocolate chips ice cream cone fell off his grip and splattered on the fade colored, aged pavement.

  


“Ugh... oh darn. Sorry, Nikolka.”

  


A certain unreadable looked crept over the youthful, normally relaxed face of the light brown-haired Fregat. It was quickly discarded, and he was about to reassure the older unit from a different origin not to overthink it when a sour, borderline sarcastic voice broke in.

  


“Hmph... can’t even hold on to an ice cream cone? How will you even handle weaponry during a battle?”

  


Silently gritted his teeth under his silicone-based material made lips, the sole Fregat who wasn’t ‘born’ in Kaliningrad let the remark slipped. Though, inside his thought, anger-filled reaction surely made itself known. ‘Dear Boryushka. If it wasn’t because I’ve been trying so hard to win your approval... well, I probably train my grip to be more secured using your neck,’ still, not the slightest clue of that thought surfaced on Tributs’ outwardly appearance.

Instead, a sharp, yet without explosive temper, critical response emerged from the by far most peaceful looking unit. “I can’t believe you’re such a terrible person, Boryushka.”

  


For the first time ever, Vinogradov finally let go of his opinion toward this entire ‘Lineage War’ which he deemed unreasonable and harmful. Crouching his 176 centimeters frame down to picked up the wasted ice cream, his eyes directed an opposing gaze at his ‘direct older sibling’.

“Why? Why do you have to be so much spiteful? What had Vovka ever done wrong? And you take it out on everything... even a harmless, ice cream isn’t spared from being collateral damage?” 

There was a out of ordinary expression conveyed through Vinogradov’s gray eyes, something akin to sorrow.

To both Shaposhnikov and Tributs, they finally comprehended their ‘childish’ competition at last pushed their little brother to the breaking point. Ignoring the state of his own ice cream which started losing its ability to maintain its solid form little by little, the Fregat unit who so far also maintained his cool facade was beginning to ‘melt’.

“Our creators gave us the ability to mimic humans’ emotions for reasons and we best get in touch with that data. Just now, you may wonder what’s the big deal with a single wasted ice cream... but for humans at this time, especially children - ice cream is a luxury that they can’t afford. Can you believe it? Something they used to be able to buy with little hardship is now something they have no right to enjoy due to this slumping economy.”

“Honestly, a sight of dropping ice cream like this... will break a child’s heart.” using his free hand to pick up the lost sweet treat, Vinogradov meanwhile ignored how the one in his other hand was persistently melting. From there he moved forward, looking for a trash can to dispose of the food, and possibly along with his hope to make a peaceful day between two older siblings.

As he reached the garbage dispenser, just a few steps away, a small boy probably aged around five or six also approached the unsanitary metal barrel to get rid of junks. The boy stopped on his track, looking up to the frame in military uniform with his innocence light brown eyes. Tiny hand tucked into his wind jacket’s pocket, retrieving a piece of hand tissue.

  


“Mister, your ice cream... wipe it before it will stain your uniform,” was the explanation offered along with the tissue.

  


Obviously the boy was unaware of the fact that he was talking to a non-human. His act of kindness though, still touched the android, “Thank you so much. You’re so kind... how is your day?”

“So-so I guess,” muttered the boy as he dropped his unwanted baggages. “Mom out to work but dad has been staying home for weeks now. I don’t understand, Mom said dad’s workplace has no more money to hire him. Where could all the money go?”

Trio of the project known as Fregat fell silent, thinking they were experiencing what humans called ‘lump in their throat’. It was just as Vinogradov mentioned, and the two older units weren’t quite aware of the dire situation of living condition outside of their base... which appeared more stable than the society of low-paying civilians. With his ever so gentle, soothing voice, the newest individual of project 1155 casually raised a question toward one of mortals he was meant to protect after dabbing the melting streak of sticky cream off his hand.

“When was the last time you had an ice cream?”

“Umm... a..week? Maybe two. Mom said we need to save money for something else so…” and then the chocolate-chip ice cream was offered to him in return. 

“If you’re okay with chocolate chip? Don’t worry, I haven’t eaten it yet... my… ‘buddies’ here took my mind of the ice cream by various interactions I couldn’t have finished the ice cream fast enough.”

Of course mentioning that Shaposhnikov and Tributs were his brothers would make the poor boy blink in utter confusion - as their physical appearances were so dissimilar. Seeing the hesitation by the boy, the unit with light brown hair added, “Or, do you prefer other flavor? I’ll buy you a new one if that’s the case.”

“Chocolate-chips is fine! Thank you very much!!” the child was almost jumping with joy. He readily accepted the sweet treat, flashing a pure, genuinely delighted beam at the ‘older’ man. Vinogradov returned a gentle small smile and gave a warning, “And please be careful not to run, you may trip and lose it like my buddy…”

Again, those large eyes on the tiny body raised up to look at the other two frames in the same naval officer uniform before nodding. Meanwhile, the older pair looked at each other. They sensed their younger brother was unbelievably angry at them, despite they could never really experience emotions but drawing data to construct appropriate social reaction. As the little boy walked away, still waving at the military ‘man’ who brightened up his day, Vinogradov mumbled something to his two kins. 

  


“How old do you think he is? Six?”

  


“Probably something around that…” still as if they were in the middle of some fierce competition, Shaposhnikov beat Tributs to respond. All the while trying to balance his own melting ice cream so it wouldn’t drip onto his uniform.

“So that means, that little boy... he’s actually older than me.”

Taken by surprise due to such a statement, Shaposhnikov rummaged through his inner databank to check, while the Leningrad unit was left baffled. Indeed Vinogradov was ‘born’ in February 1986... thus now only merely ‘four years old’. Straightened himself upward, the Fregat unit who appeared to be warm and kind just minuted ago now sharply shifted to a colder demeanor toward his supposedly ‘older’ brothers.

“Boryushka... you have disappointed me. In contradiction to the fact that you’re an android, gaining every basic knowledge equivalent to ten if not more years in humans from the first day you awakened... yet, I have to say you’re really acting your age - which is equal to that nice boy.”

Was he really upset by that criticising? Not really but the unit with reddish blond hair stood up to bear all of what his younger brother had to say. Tributs was shifting uncomfortably, not knowing if he would also be caught in this web of wrath from the youngest unit. Despite his harsh words, their Nikola wasn’t really displaying any facial expression or body language associated with anger, if anything he was more calm than ever.

“I don’t really understand why you’re so harsh toward Vovka. In all honestly, this makes me miserable, especially when, for whatever reason, I became a core of your aggression toward him. If asking for transfer was easy, I’d really want to move to the Northern Fleet. At least from what I heard Udaloy big brother and... Kulakov got along just fine.”

Well, that definitely hit Shaposhnikov hard, it had to mean something if the transfer was mentioned. And rapidly following up, the next statement hit him even more severe.

  


“I’d ask you to respect my request. If possible... I’d prefer to keep my distance from you for some period. I hate constantly being exposed to your childish behavior.”

  


Concluding his lecture, Vinogradov moved along the path besides the main street back toward their base. Although relieved he wasn’t included in the scolding, Tributs wished some hint was provided whether he would be welcome near him or was he included in the sanctioned list? 

Glancing at the somewhat unresponsive aggressor who fell into deep pondering over the earful directed at him, the oldest unit of what used to be a trio decided it would be best to make himself scarce.

  


“I’ll get out of your sight, too. Let’s not make today any worse than it already is…”

  


Aligning his frame to the direction of the place he looked to keep himself entertained while waiting for the atmosphere to settle, another quick look slipped over Shaposhnikov. Seeing no acknowledgement reaction from the flamboyant unit from Kaliningrad, the unit from Leningrad took a grateful escape and simply slipped away quietly.

In the end, Shaposhnikov’s gray-colored lenses did take notice of his archrival’s absence. As always, Tributs was just so unimportant that he cared not to spare his thought process for. So there, along the Leninskaya Street found the lone naval android pondering the dilemma of his life, ignoring everything else with ease. His laser sharp concentration was lifted by a tingling sensation of... melting ice cream on his fingers. An irritated look flashed across his face once again... only to be released just about as fast.

Eating ice cream was surely more of a task to fulfill than actual enjoyment…

  


“Moryak! Eat your ice cream instead of wasting it!”

  


Funny, the high-pitched little voice that shook him off his contemplation was... from a girl in typical USSR school uniform. By his wild estimation, her age was likely somewhat older than the previous ‘tiny human’ he encountered today - 8 or 9? The android gave her a quizzical look, “Pardon, little miss?”

“Ice cream, i-c-e- c-r-e-a-m,” Shaposhnikov actually blinked at her emphasizing. “Don’t waste food! Cream which is the basic of this ice cream came from cows, and for cows to produce cream farmers need to work hard to feed them! Please honor the farmers and appreciate what they produce!!”

...He swore she would make an exemplary politician in the future.

“You seem to know quite a lot about food processing. Have you been to young pioneer camp or something?” while reluctant to admit the girl truly slammed some sense which he was never aware before into him, he wouldn’t let her ‘win’ easier... yet.

“Not yet, my older brother did. Maybe I can go in two years…” then she appeared to catch his drift. “Hey! Don’t try to get away by making me talk! Eat your ice cream!!”

What the ‘sailor’ did next took her aback, “Huh? Why are you... pushing your ice cream at me?”

“If you’re so anxious about the fate of this ice cream, then please be my guest. I don’t even like ice cream, anyway.”

“Then, why buy one from the start?” the fierce girl with dark chestnut hair accepted the treat. Shaposhnikov shrugged, “I didn’t. A... colleague bought it for me. He did say something like you - ice cream is a treat to enjoy…”

“But to me, eating ice cream is more of a task than enjoyment.” The girl shook her head at such ‘nonsense’ she heard for the day.

“You’re a weird one, but sure. I’ll take the ‘task’ off your hand. Next time just tell him ‘no’ in the first place instead of trying to please him then fail.”

She had no idea how her words were like a pack of punches. After all, it only made sense; the girl might look younger than him outwardly but she certainly horned up social skill far deeper than his ability to react based on data. The entity who appeared older in physique yet in reality a few years younger by real age watched the girl walked away with the cursed ice cream.

  


What a weird day… in the end, he didn’t become any closer to his younger sibling. And even more bizarre, ending the day by being lectured an elementary school aged civilian girl.

  


  


Peace temporarily graced Vladivostok again in summer of 1990 when Vinogradov and Boyevoy were assigned on a friendly mission to San Diego. With his evidently highly adaptable social comprehend among androids, it was a success. The mission was something that left a legacy on the relationship of the two states… and unknowingly paved foundation for that of another state in a future far nearer than the androids expected.

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** **'Moryak'** which the girl called Shaposhnikov means 'sailor' in Russian.
> 
> ** [Young pioneer camp](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Young_Pioneer_camp) was the typical activities for members of [Young Pioneer organization](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Young_Pioneer_organization_of_the_Soviet_Union) back in the USSR days.


	15. 'Red Ukraine'

  


This had become a routine for the Pacific Fleet to regularly receive new reinforcement every few months. But, against this sensation of freshness, the level of economy dipped in the opposite way. Indeed, there were new reinforcement... but it was obviously the state didn’t actually have enough funding to rotate equally between the ‘news’ and the ‘olds’. Warship and submarine androids scheduled for mid-life check up and repairs found their schedules cancelled, thus forced to continue utilizing their aging equipment.

Still, new reinforcement kept coming... at the expense of the already existing members. 

No difference from how this wave of excitements concerned gaining new warfare androids made the settlements with tied to naval bases of the USSR Navy fell into a buzzing state... at the expense of the wider economy of the parts which hosted none of the fleets.

Even the androids themselves weren’t oblivious to the changing for the worse. They noticed the change in morale of human personnel around them. They noticed how the town they called ‘home’ fell into an untidy state; roads cracking without repair, trash piling on corners of streets and people’s face obtained a new expression that prevailed over other positive ones - gloom. Monetary salary which handed to them, mostly to allow them to have purchasing power over something that deemed as helping to broaden their understanding of the human’s realm, also decreased significantly in value.

  


The previous year was also the hallmark period for the project 1164 Atlant, for the lead ship, Slava, was chosen by the politics representatives of the USSR to present at the Malta Summit which aimed to lessen the tension and hostility between the USSR and the US. And from what the news conveyed, the eldest brother of the ‘carrier killer’ handled the task perfectly; despite being reputed as ‘Slava the Unfriendly’.

With that, the prestige of units belonged to the same project went skyrocketing.

  


  


“Rostislav? How do you ‘feel’? It was never this cold in Nikolaev, correct?”

  


Cladded in the by now easily recognizable uniform belonged to the 956 Sarych project, the smaller unit of the two transferring newcomers asked his companion for whom he acted as an escort. After leaving the Black Sea Fleet’s HQ in Sevastopol on the Crimean Peninsula, they had fast become friends. And the joke on them would be because the escort’s name meant ‘fast’.

Although Bystryy’s voice was already quite manly enough on its own, the other voice emerged from a meek-looking frame, slightly cowering with fear of the place he wasn’t familiar was rumbling far more powerful, as if a thunderstorm materialized during this period of winter.

“I... it’s different, I’d say…? After all, the most... Nikolaev has was Southern Bug River, not a... vast sea where wind could sweep without obstacle for hundred of kilometers like this…”

One could detect a shiver from his voice but despite the -9 degree Celsius surrounding them, that wasn’t the main factor of the tremble. Surely the ‘traditional looking’ outfit he wore normally didn’t make for such a low temperature but as an android, coldness usually meant no more than just digit registered from sensors and slight hassle of ice forming up where it made direct contact with water. Usually, the heat generated from combustion which drove the turbine on each of the two footing equipment they each equipped was enough to prevent ice crystal from forming into a thick slab.

With prominent gloomy air around him, the escort could precisely identify the trouble that ate up his larger companion. “Rostislav, look this way. I know you have a hard time leaving Sevastopol, but your brother Slava is scheduled to receive checkup and repair next year. Even if you linger around the Black Sea Fleet longer, eventually you’ll be alone when he goes back to Nikolaev. And... you won’t want to be around those rowdy bunch who made fun of you, right?”

Another occurrence of shiver motion struck the new android who was the first representative of his project in this Far East fleet. Sliding in across the frigid sea surface close to within arm length, the newest Sarych unit patted his friend on the back, below that main gun installation on Chervona Ukrayna’s left shoulder.

“Come on, cheer up! There will certainly be new friends for you here! At least I’ll make my brothers see you in a different light!”

  


  


From four-storey above the ground, inside the warmth of flagship’s office the two androids who considered Nikolaev their hometown waited patiently for the telephone to ring. Today there was supposed to be another arrival of new members. Just as usual, Kosek was sent to be the first welcoming front to guide them to the Golden Horn Bay. What was different this time around though, was that they receive a special request regarding one of the reinforcement... from no other than the celebrated lead ship of the project 1164 himself.

“The guys are starting to gather…” the third project 1143 reported as he peeked out of windows which guarded them from the brutal chill of Siberian High.

“Who wouldn’t want to see the first unit of a new project that hasn’t been deployed in their fleet before? Especially one that just gained international fames even…” repeatedly, Minsk tapped his fingers on the wooden table surface, getting restless for a contact from his direct subordinate. “For someone you’d assumed to be rather self-important for the recognition he just received, Slava surely surrenders quite much of his ego to ask us such a favor.”

“...What can I say? He... and I were kind of old acquaintances, you know.”

“First you met him in Sevastopol, and then another brief, second time in Severomorsk... yet nothing lasted long enough, heh?”

“Not like his demeanor would allow it in the first place. Until last year when he went to Malta, he was ‘Slava the Unfriendly’ - that’s how he wasn’t easy to establish a connection with.”

“Between him and the ‘Kirov’ Minya hurts our ears by whining so much about, who’s the worst?” by now Minsk lost his concentration of the phone and took joy in participating in ‘gossiping’ with his younger brother.

“By far margin, of course Kirov. Slava might not be friendly but at least he’s still communicating.” And irritatingly, the phone chose right on that moment to ring. Cutting any further ‘gossiping’ between the flagship and secretary of the Pacific Fleet. With frown firmly stuck on his face, Minsk received the report from his aircraft type underling then pushed himself up from his sturdy desk. “Let’s go. Let’s see if this third kid of the ‘carrier killer’ type really worth the hype.”

  


  


“Hey? What’s that!?” Someone from the gathering crowd directed everyone’s gaze to the horizon when suddenly, a bright red spot popped out from the gray skyline. With the noise of rotor blades fully at work that announced the arrival of two reinforcement their Ka-27 colleague was sent to escort to their base. At the same time from a distance away, the pair of newcomer also noticed how the crowd were growing bigger... and inevitably, the sense of fear started creeping over expression on the larger unit of the duo who just travelled past the warmer southern sea.

With an expression of concern firmly lodged in his bright blue eyes, Bystryy snapped his head to observe his friend. “Rostislav, it’s okay... they’re just excited to see you!”

No word slipped from Chervona Ukrayna. The Sarych unit yet to make the landing of Far East soil fearfully hoped for things to prove them wrong. As they approached the distance where tug boat androids came to assist them toward the pier, none of the non-combatant units made any comment about... extraordinarily striking... quality in the third Atlant’s appearance.

And Bystryy was extremely thankful for that.

However, soon the newcomers pair caught the fainted various voices which communicated thoughts regarding their entrance to the fleet.

_‘Look at that! The kid’s head is actually bright red!’_

_‘And what’s with that uniform? Telnyashka and... kosovorotka?? Such type of garment is freakin’ so outdated!’_

_‘Hey, didn’t you ever look at the newspaper? The first ship of project 1164 also wears that. So apparently it’s not the kid’s choice... don’t blame him for it.’_

The newest Sarych whipped his eyes toward other androids who would soon become his colleagues, silently begging them to cease the murmurs to no avail. Slipping one hand away from the task of disengaging the footing equipment from his own feet, the Sarych whose name meant ‘fast’ gave his friend a squeeze to convey that he would stand by him no matter what.

“Rostislav, keep calm, okay? Once Commander Minsk or Novorossiysk arrives... no one will dare continue such talk again. Trust me.” Still, he only hoped that would become true, for his friend’s sake…

“Bystryy!! Bystryy, heyyyyy!!” frantic effort to gain attention from the latest Sarych with brown hair undoubtedly originated from his overexcited older brothers. All four of them were presented; Osmotritelnyy, Boyevoy, Stoykiy and Burnyy, who was the former ‘newest’ himself. The current youngest simply gave them a short wave before turning his focus back to dealing with the equipment which would only posed to be inconvenient on ground. A little did they know... each side of them had a favor to ask the other…

It was a common sight to see androids of different project became friends during their transition voyage together. And this newest pair of and destroyer and a cruiser type was no exception. Thus no one really suspected a thing when they saw Bystryy being particularly attentive to the first Atlant unit of the easternmost fleet.

  


“That kosovorotka... truly reminds me of your eldest brother,” clamoring died down as that serene voice preceded the view of its owner. Novorossiysk led the flagship of Pacific Fleet to the space between the arriving duo and the rest of the ‘oldies’.

  


Instead of the sense of reassurance, the sight of two older, more established units from the same hometown actually... made the ‘Red Atlant’ more insecure. Would he ever be good enough for them to accept him? Would they find his behavior tolerable? Slava... asked them to look after him especially so they might know what to expect but, would his ‘weakness’ exceed their level of tolerance? While the two observing pairs of green-blue eyes didn’t cast a certain degree of pressure upon him, Chervona Ukrayna... already felt the need to hide. So that he wouldn’t show his true ‘ugly’ self and ruin their trust in him.

“Come on, let’s make our introduction.” the brown-haired Sarych tugged the vivid red fabric with intricate gold embroidery.

They moved to stand upright next to each other, presenting themselves to their new commander. It was customary for the bigger, ‘more important’ unit to make introduction first, hence Bystryy stood waiting. Deep down he was concerned... public speaking was never his friend’s strong point. Moreover, those curious but full of expectations looks from their new colleagues…

And just as he dreaded for its side effect on his companion. Those stares were too much for the third Atlant, for him cowering and seeking refuge behind the more compact frame of his escort. Without a prompt, buzzing noise of countless whispers shattered the last of what tranquility left within the first unit of project 1164 arriving to Vladivostok. That gesture raised an eyebrow on Minsk.

Trying not to break the usual tradition, the newest Sarych could only do so much to shift his attention from the crowd before him. Very lowly, his quiet voice mumbled, “Please, Rostislav, just say your name and class will be enough. You don’t have to do anything else until the commander speaks to you.”

Even so, like a scared puppy, the Red Atlant firmly kept his position behind the destroyer unit.

Though he was already made aware of this a typical possibility, Minsk still maintained his usual intimidating presence fitting for a flagship. “Well?” he prodded the much younger unit who also came from Nikolaev verbally.

  


“Bystryy... I’m sorry. I... can’t." 

  


Despite the overflowing strength usually associated with the low, guttural voice - what Chervona Ukrayna spoke...couldn’t possibly convey any more weakness.

_“That kid is shaking? What’s with him?’_ Somebody from within the crowd noted.

Knowing fully well what he was about to do could very well result in being disciplined, but Bystryy saw no other option. He feared for the worst by now... that if he didn’t turn around to give his friend a support, the third Atlant... might just bolt off and try to flee back to the Black Sea. And that absolutely couldn’t be happening.

“I... I beg your pardon, sir!” Bystry blurted out urgently, turning his body to face his friend who was under enormous pressure that only him understood. With his hands firm on both thick arms belonged to of ‘Red Ukraine’, the Leningrad native tried his hardest to plead the frightened unit to stay.

“Rostislav! Please!! Stay here with me! You can’t go back to Sevastopol!”

Such unexpected mention of the city which hosted the Black Sea Fleet’s HQ summoned another round of suppressed communications between older androids deployed to the Pacific Fleet. Going back to Sevastopol? What was the problem here? But as sudden as a strike of lightning on a day with a clear sky, Minsk’s voice erupted to destroy any other insignificant talk among his subordinates.

  


“Who gave you any permission not to shut up?!”

  


Along with the older units forming the crowd, Bystryy also froze at the intensity of that command. As for the ‘Red Atlant’? If only he wasn’t constructed with solid metallic inner structure, he might have melted from fear.

In contrast to all the commotion, the other ‘third’ android of a project who also ‘born’ in Nikolaev maintained his sight on the current youngest brother of someone he was acquainted with. However, with Minsk being in charge, he could only keep his composure to appear as indifferent. He would let his older brother ‘ran the show’ for now. And thus, Novorossiysk only watched the event in front of him, with the rest of the gathering colleagues, without intervention.

“What’s this ‘Rostislav’ thing you kept calling him? As far as I’m aware, that’s not his name?” 

That familiar gruff voice among the members of the eastern fleet shot at the newest 956, who did his best to shield the larger, yet less courageous unit.

“Rostislav... is his name, sir. The Atlant androids... they all have this quirk of bearing an additional ‘human name’ - for Slava, it’s Mstislav, the second unit in the Northern fleet is Stanislav.”

“Huh... never thought the 1164 are a bunch of kids. So they’re playing on the fact that the West call them ‘Slava-class’?” Minks mused aloud then continued with his ‘interrogation’, “And what’s so bad about Vladivostok that he wants to go back to Sevastopol?”

“That…” although he understood the reason behind it thoroughly, the Sarych unit with brown hair struggled to phrase his answer. One wrong move, and he could involuntarily send his friend to the bad side of their supposed colleagues. After all, not every unit in this fleet were ‘like them’, as in being sent from the European part of the USSR to deploy here. Some of them were natives of the Far East themselves. And hearing a newbie doubted the loyalty of their homeland definitely wouldn’t be received well.

“He’s worried about... all these somewhat upheavals in the west side of our state, sir. It’s scary to be alone in a faraway region where he had no one to turn to in this situation. I’d be the same if there weren’t for my four brothers already here.”

Though he appeared not to be thoroughly convinced by such logic, the supreme commander among android personnel decided he would only endure this much fuss. Letting the strange occurrence slipped, he then barked another order at his secretary, “Take Chervona Ukrayna to my office. We certainly have lots to talk about. I’ll go report to the human commanders first.”

Unbeknownst to the rest of the gathered androids, included Bystryy himself, that was Minsk’s ploy to rescue the youngest Nikolaev-born unit. Novorossiysk nodded to the command and stepped up toward the ruby red-haired member of project 1164, pulling the cowering frame up to his feet. Even with armaments still fully intact, the unit who was dominated by the color red was frail against the larger figure in full white uniform. Obediently, he couldn’t pose any resistance and just followed the fleet secretary with his eyes down toward the ground.

With the ‘main attraction’ gone, the gathering crowd broke up with obvious disappointment vibe in the air. The quartet of older black uniformed destroyers walked up to their latest addition, their faces were all taken over by a certain nagging issue they were made aware of by their youngest’s words.

“When you left Baltiysk? What’s the situation there?”

However, Bystryy’s messy brown locks were taken into his palms in a gesture of frustration. Eyeing each of his older siblings, he then groaned, “Honestly, please leave this subject for a while, bros? Seeing how this issue bothers Rostislav so much... it makes me wonder if I’m just being dense. We’re seeing something that we haven’t seen before and how could we not being alerted? I don’t understand a thing... why Lithuania wants out now? Is it just what humans call ‘phase’ or is it something more? How can androids like us comprehend??”

After that, he proceeded to tell all the secrets to his brothers. Those units who had spent years here in Vladivostok agreed it would be best to keep their Atlant’s distrust toward the Far East buried from others.

“So... he was made fun of even in the Black Sea Fleet? For no other reason than for whatever strange delusional inspiration they made his hair bright red to fit the name?? That’s some tough life he had...” commented Boyevoy. “Even our Vovka is luckier... I guess.”

“Sure, I see no problem that we’ll help ‘shelter’ him. From what you said, it doesn’t seem like he ever had any friend back in Sevastopol, right? His own oldest brother, if anything, was strict toward him…”

“Yeah, finally having a friend would do the poor kid some good. Let’s do it!”

Bystryy thanked his brothers profusely for unconditionally accepted his request. Switching turn, the brothers then revealed their own trouble. 

“They... they actually fight among themselves? Members of the same project???” In incredulity, the youngest Sarych couldn’t believe what he just heard. And for the reason possibly even far more absurd than the root of why his friend from Nikolaev was being bullied.

“Since you’re arriving late... it’s pretty easy for you to avoid the whole mess. Just don’t stick your neck into it when Shaposhnikov and Tributs fight. Unlike us, you have no direct cause to butt in.” Osmotritelnyy advised the youngest. “At least Shaposhnikov does keep his words... to a certain degree. He doesn’t care for us unless we butt in to save Tributs. But he doesn’t keep his words on Tributs’ end since Vinogradov came into the scene.”

“...Why is our fleet such a chaotic one considered we’re based right next to ‘Pacific’ Ocean?” the fifth Sarych could only wonder at the irony presented in Vladivostok.

  


  


Already taken off all armaments and equipment, with a rather pale face Chervona Ukrayna waited for Minsk to return fretfully under scrutinize of Novorossiysk’s green-blue eyes. He didn’t doubt that life had been hard for this new ‘carrier killer’ from the same hometown as his - after all, when he was still roaming around his own ‘home’ - several kilometers downstream from that of the Atlant units, the economy hadn’t yet become this terrible.

Another thing was... he had a certain subject he wanted to ask this youngling. But on the second thought, starting it might flare up the state of being homesick to this ‘red’ android.

Hence, he allowed silence to prevail between them, patiently waiting for the flagship to make a return first before any conversation might take place.

But the long arm of the time-telling machine on the wall slipped from its position at the digit 12 for almost half of the round now. And even Novorossiysk couldn’t help but started wondering why Minsk was absent for so long? Anyhow, to him it looked like their newly deployed member of the project 1164 had no complaint for that. The kid kept himself perfectly still on the seat of the chair and waited without any outwardly negative reaction.

“I have words from your brother to you, so just ignore why it took me long to come back, will you?” 

In a declaration made by Minsk the moment he set foot in his own confined work space resulted in the previously more relaxed-looking body of the android in painfully red upper garment stiffened his frame. The sensation of ‘fear’ came back with full force over him and to Novorossiysk’s watchful eyes, he caught the return of the tremble. Until he met Chervona Ukrayna, he always thought androids like them couldn’t mimic some subtle behavior of humans that well, namely things like small body languages as in shuddering or the change of colors on face due to emotional effects.

Again, it had been almost a decade since he was completed. How far the technology in producing android progressed since, he couldn’t pinpoint for sure.

“By the way, where is our ‘welcoming attendant’ Minya again?” the unit with highest authority in the fleet noted the suspicious absence of their usual member of welcoming troops.

“Out at the sea... he’s supposed to return today though but run into some fog in the Sea of Japan from the last radio call? Wonder how soon he’ll ‘attack’ our newbie here…” informed the fleet secretary swiftly.

The older of the two ‘Gyrfalcons’ intentionally left the talk died at that and they both cast their piercing hawk-eyed look all over the latest unit from Nikolaev again. Despite his rather robust physique, albeit still a degree smaller than themselves, their ‘Red Atlant’ yet looked incredibly fragile.

“I don’t feel words from Slava will do you any good now. Ugh... you look like you can ‘faint’ then fall down and melt away on my office’s floor at anytime, kid.”

“I... I’m... extremely sorry, sir. For... being... weak…” muttered the third unit of ‘carrier killers’.

“But hey, at least now I can gauge just how much pressure you’re under. Heck, your oldest brother himself surely adds quite some of it on you.” that instead piqued Novorossiysk’s curiosity. And he couldn’t help asking, “So what did the ever ‘Unfriendly’ Slava say? To his own younger sibling?”

_“Grow up or you’ll disappoint me - please tell him that,”_ the flagship of USSR’s easternmost fleet quoted then shook his head. “I swore if the darn Kiev said that in my face, I’d go back to punch him in the face some day for sure.”

“Oh my, oh my---” Strangely, the third unit of project 1143 himself sounded rather entertaining at the entire situation unfolded in the flagship’s office.

“That is just so ‘Slava’, alright. But I feel sorry for our little Slavik here.”

“Yes, especially how his social skill was underdeveloped for being left alone at the 61 Kommunara Shipyard for three years. All because his younger brother never ‘wake up’ on time from severe fund cutting.” 

A heavy hand of the oldest unit originated from the same city in Black Sea region clasped down hard on the shoulder under vivid colored ancient style shirt. With a silent grasp, Minsk could now detect the shaking from his palm. “Look, kid. Relax. We’re not going to kill you for not being ‘up to expectation’, you hear me?”

“Y... yes... sir,” that feeble voice, if they hadn’t known better than androids like them were absolutely incapable to cry, they’d believe the youngest Atlant here was ready to burst into tears at any second.

“Also, I guess I understand now why Bystryy out there said something about you want to flee back to Sevastopol,” “So it’s not just because he’s the lone member of his class here?” “No, silly. That is part of it but not the whole picture.”

Before continuing their ‘Nikolaev-natives only’ talk, Minsk moved to seat himself at the desk, directing facing the ‘weakest’ of them... who dutifully kept his eyes downward in shame. Crossing his arms while watching the ‘misbehave’ kid a little longer, the aircraft carrying type with brown hair then issued a personal order.

“I hereby assign Novorossiysk to look after you. Go to him for anything - geography advice, someone bullies you, adjusting to life in far east in general... whatever you can think of.”

“I’m sure when Slava first contacted us, he asked both of us for that task?” an eyebrow of light brown-colored raised. Minsk just waved at the accusation, “It’ll make the kid look bad if somehow he waltzed in and has the flagship acting as his guardian. Probably raise the numbers of those that find faults with him. You, on the other hand, have little to assist me, anyway. Most of all you did as my secretary so far is nagging me.”

“And I have to admit, I’m tired of nagging you, anyway.”

“And by the way…” the by now ‘secretary-free’ commander of Pacific fleet shifted the topic of their discussion. “Far East probably won’t secede... and call for ‘whether fake or not’ independence like those Baltic States. Here is different.”

  


That head full of brilliant red hair dipped slightly in a nodding motion. Sadly, neither of the larger androids in pure white uniform could see if he really had a change of heart’ regarding that truth.

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The transfer took place from October-December 1990. In that year around March, Lithuania had already [attempted to declare independence from the USSR](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Act_of_the_Re-Establishment_of_the_State_of_Lithuania) but didn't receive official recognition yet.


	16. Struggle to Find His Place

  


Because of his immediate body size which lied in the middle of ‘largest’ like the 1143 project and yet bigger than those destroyers type, Chervona Ukrayna was assigned a room in android personnel’s dormitory shared with another older cruiser sub-type unit. Although the ‘roommate’ attempted to be friendly toward the new addition, that deadly timidity was the major obstacle. It took really a long time for Chervona Ukrayna to even warm up to someone enough to break the silence wall. Thus, the atmosphere in their shared room was mostly one of ‘each minding their own business’ with virtually no conversation.

Outside though, some of the more rowdy members of the fleet found a way to get the new Atlant’s attention by utilizing the prominent color of his. Various nicknames popping at crazy frequency; from strawberry, raspberry, tomato to those that he didn’t even understand what the names were for himself like Ikra or Kimchi.

However, every time he was called by such names, the ‘Red Ukraine’ moved away quickly, hiding his negative reactions. And each time he would hear further taunting from those veterans who served longer than himself. ‘You are no fun.’, ‘He has no sense of humor.’, ‘How boring.’ were among the usual phrases thrown at him. But none of them could match up to ‘I can’t tell whether he’s unresponsive because he has no sense of humor. Or he’s just so spineless he doesn’t dare to have any reaction.’

Like how thin moisture slowly solidified into a thick, suffocating fog - the air of disappointment was becoming more apparent to the young unit classified as a member of project 1164. Though in the middle of that was safe haven, formed by the Sarych clan at request of their youngest. Even so, the five androids born in Leningrad only shielded him away from verbal negativity, just what they could when they presented around him. 

...And somehow, someone found a way to ‘up’ their game of prodding for reaction from their newest reinforcement from the Black Sea. Someone... who probably somehow accidentally came across an old record of ancient tradition of bygone era, outlawed by the USSR’s ideology. It was a way of life long discarded since the start of the 20th century, except in a number of extreme rural locations.

  


“So, where’s your wife?’

  


Sniggering accompanied that supposedly harmless inquiry. For an android, such statement totally stumped the red Atlant - with little to no information regarding romance or sexual desire written into their main databank. How was he supposed to respond to that? Overwhelmed by both the lack of clues for further action and the discomfort of being constantly baited for reactions by the older androids, instead of just walked away like always, he froze in no different manner from a deer in a headlight.

“W—what do you... mean by... that? Wife? But... we... don’t--”

Laughter was roaring in full strength at that stuttering. And the already shattered confidence in Chervona Ukrayna fell deeper into the pitch of self-doubt. Maybe they only wanted to tease him, maybe they thought it was genuinely a harmless fun, but for the meek cruiser from Black Sea... it only reinforced his wish to bail out back to where his oldest brother was available to protect him.

  


Luckily, Bystryy was near enough to notice the scene from meters away and quickly swooped in to rescue his friend. He covered for the larger unit while trying to negotiate with the more experienced bunch.

“Please, I know you may not mean to harass him but... let it slip for now? Our state is vast, traditions in each part are probably not the same and he genuinely doesn’t understand your joke.”

“Come on, young Sarych. If he can’t take this harmless joke, he’s too weak for navy life!” one of them gloated, to the cheers of his company.

“You’re right, navy life is not for any faint heart but... I don’t think this is the best way to build his trust on you…”

“You’re babying him too much, Bystryy. I heard even his own brother Slava was harsher to him than this?” another older unit reasoned, which Bystryy certainly found no way to argue, for he witnessed that with his own eyes.

“Maybe one day he’ll be able to understand your joke. For now... please excuse us.”

Dutifully as the assigned escort for the ‘Red Atlant’, the Sarych with brown hair pulled his friend away with great urgency. Behind them, they could still hear the veterans talking among themselves.

_“There they go. The Sarych brood are really hogging him, don’t you think?”_

_“We’re barely taunting him with a joke and what? He’s unable to respond! Will he really be any use for us in battle?”_

  


  


Once they had ‘retreated’ to a safe distance, Chervona Ukrayna, always seemingly highly perceptive of atmosphere, could tell if this kept on it wouldn’t be good for his friend. Looking on from behind, catching his first friend in the same fleet taking his well-being seriously... he meekly muttered just loud enough for Bystryy’s hearing sensory to receive the communication.

“I...I’m okay now. Thank you, Bystryy.”

“No, you’re not. Don’t try to lie to me, Rostislav. Your hand is still quivering slightly. I can detect the motion with my sensors.”

And it dawned to the red-haired android loud and clear just how much his escort could see through him after two months at sea together. Resigned, he returned to quiet mode and left the ‘escort’ task to the brown-haired Sarych.

“Apologies, Bystryy. I didn’t want to lie but... you know, if this keeps up, the other older androids might dislike you and your siblings.”

“We know what we signed up to, Rostislav. We brace ourselves for it but frankly, if they dislike us merely for this reason, then it’s clear the problematic one are them, not us,” those blue-gray eyes could only envy the confidence he heard in his friend’s baritone voice. What made Bystryy so different from him?

  


Before long, they reached the spot where the other Sarych unit roamed about. The ‘foster brothers’ knew instantly what was up, thus they were quick to take the third Atlant’s concentration off to something more relaxing. In a striking lightened mood, they suggested various local cuisines they had tried before and thought their ‘little Atlant’ should get a taste as well. Lots were suggested; a local favorite sea cabbage with calamari, famed Sakhalin seaweed salad or even Pyanse or Khe - dishes with distinct Korean influence.

“Everyone... I need.. a help,” for their genuine support for him, all the units belonged to project 956 stopped their chat and listened to what the sole ‘red sheep among the flock of black sheep’ attempt to let them know. 

“How can I... become so brave like all of you? Bystryy isn’t even afraid to stand up against... the veterans.”

Five pairs of blue eyes exchanged looks to brainstorm for a viable answer. They already knew what to avoid, so not to add even more pressure to their fragile friend. Carefully selected their choice of word, Osmotritelnyy received the honor of trying to rear their fleet’s first ‘carrier killer’.

“I get that for the starter, the pressures on us are entirely unlike. You certainly have been bearing a high amount of unfair pressures, Rostik — wait, can we call you by that diminutive? Errr, anyway! The first thing you need is confidence, which is... to feel good about yourself? But this differs from being totally egoistic.”

Even he was rather comfortable with his level of self-confidence, the eldest brother within the Pacific brood of project 956 still struggled to put words into elaborated encouragement. In meantime, his own younger siblings were giving him eyes, pressuring him not to mess up.

“Confident... but not egoistic?” pondered the timid unit. “Then in Slava’s case... what is it for him? The way he carries himself... is that confidence or egotism?”

That question was like a bunch of torpedoes detonating in the middle of the group of Sarych units. Blue eyes slid off the big brother to Bystryy - who was the sole member of their project to have the privilege of meeting the famed first Atlant. While the older fours knew Chervona Ukrayna’s eldest brother from media, they didn’t think that was enough to tell them the kind of person the ‘Black Sea carrier killer’ was.

“I’m sorry, Rostik. I don’t think I know your brother well enough to make judgement…” Osmotritelnyy defeatedly admitted. “But if I have to point someone like that to you, confident but not egoistic. That should be our Orlan, Minya... you know, Frunze.”

The clan of warship androids from Leningrad noted a strange change in their Nikolaev-born friend. Suddenly Chervona Ukrayna’s body language was stiff, as if another strike of anxiety inflicted on him for an unbeknownst reason. From the field of their visual sensory range, the five brothers spot a figure lurking from the angle where the Red Atlant couldn’t detect. Although primarily attentive to the well-being of their ‘Rostik’, an overpowering sense of curiosity also dominated their thought processing. So against informing him, the black marine uniform quintuplets sealed their mouth completely that... Frunze had secretly becoming the seventh participant of their conversation.

Pretending nothing was out of ordinary, Stoiky took over the continue their chat, “You have not met him yet, Rostik?” 

‘Rostik’ said no, Frunze behind the android with bright red hair raised his white glove cladded hand, moved it side to side in a refusal gesture. 

It took all of five units of project 956’s self-restraint effort to maintain a tight control over their reaction. Even Burnyy had to bury his face against Boyevoy’s back to prevent himself from giggling. No wonder the third Atlant’s blue-gray eyes conveyed a perplexed gaze but didn’t question that gesture.

“Umm... I guess we probably do ‘hog’ you like some of the older bunch accused. Say, you want to meet him? We can take y---”

“N— No, THANKS!” that response came out as a quick, explosive blurt.

  


Considered how much urgency was hidden in that reply, which was highly unusual for the normally meek android, their conversation hit a snag immediately. Those dark brows on the Orlan knitted themselves. It wasn’t quite anger or irritation from what the smaller androids who shared hometown as their largest surface combatant unit could tell. In turn, they utilized their gaze to prod ‘Rostik’ for further explanation, which he reluctantly surrendered.

“Sorry... I don’t... hate him if that might give you a wrong idea. I... I, ermm... Frunze he’s... very popular, right? The older guys will find another fault to harass me if they feel I... take away his attention from them? Though I really doubt Frunze will find me even remotely tolerable... at all.”

Without warning, with a clasp of both his palms on the thick, red fabric cladded shoulders. The covert ‘eagle’ caught his prey within his grips, “I’d really appropriate it if you ask me directly, little Atlant. Instead of attempting to be a fortune teller and predict my reaction without talking to me first... don’t you agree?”

Intense stares from five pairs of eyes cooperated to catch any tiny change on Chervona Ukrayna’s facial expression. They didn’t get to see much since... their easily intimidated cruiser type foster brother practically froze up by his first contact with the Orlan.

“Hey guys,” Frunze started his magical charm. Though it wasn’t like the Sarych bunch needed any more of it from the way they all already admired him greatly.

“You guys indeed hog our Atlant! Mind if I hitch him from you for a while?”

Of the four older units, they turned to Bystryy as if the youngest was the only one who could issue a permission. And Frunze seamlessly followed the cue, “Pretty please, Bystryy? I promise I won’t harm him, ever!”

“Ermm…” he certainly saw uneasiness on his friend, but even after months together at the sea, he still couldn’t quite distinguish different motive hidden within that body language. “If you... will treat him kindly, then... I guess no problem?”

With the level of resistance resembling rag doll, Chervona Ukrayna failed to fight against Frunze’s strength as he was pulled away. A tinge of guilt slammed over the destroyers as they watched the cruiser pair stepped farther away. Osmotritelnny at last commented, “I feel like we betrayed him... but if he really doesn’t want to, first he needs to be able to stop his legs from cooperating with Minya’s lead.”

  


As later they learned... the introduction was possibly the first time Minya’s charisma failed. And for the reason they had yet to uncover, after that their ‘Red Atlant’ refused to step outside of his living accommodation for a couple of days…

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** **Ikra** \- among one of the unapproved nicknames thrown at Roska means salmon roes


	17. Parting Instruction from Sevastopol

  


“Minya!! The FUCK, what have you done to Chervona Ukrayna!!??”

  


Livid wasn’t even enough to describe Minsk’s windows shattering shout. And to Frunze’s misery, Novorossiysk wasn’t in the office as always to break his flagship’s somewhat famous hard ass stance on him. Certainly the brown-haired aircraft carrying unit was well aware of the newcomer’s fear of interacting with new people, but the point where he absolutely preferred to lock himself in was something new. Another older generation cruiser who roomed with this overwhelmingly red android reported that the fresh face from Nikolaev even attempted to chat with him voluntarily... but said nothing of the cause which resulted in his ‘sheltered’ behavior.

“Commander, please have mercy on my hearing sensory... and probably the windows as well. We better not spend extra fund on unnecessa\--”

“You best spill it out what the actual fuck you told that harmless kid! Or I’ll catapult you out of the windows myself!!” rare protective streak was kicking in at full strength. My, my... what made Minsk care so much for that kid? Was the fact that they came from the same hometown create such a strong bond?

“Give me a chance, Commander. I swear I didn’t make fun of him or anything.”

The glare from those blue-green eyes revealed that Minsk didn’t believe him one bit. What had he gotten himself into?

“I only take him to chat somewhere where I think no one would bother him? I mean, I have heard that he has difficulty with being around a crowd? Too bad I returned too late on that day when he arrived so I have no idea how his introduction went but it was like a mess?”

“About as messy as melting ice cream, in fact,” Minsk grunted.

“And was it raspberry, strawberry or cherry flavor?”

“You really want me to slap some sense out of you or what, Minya?”

Uh oh, it probably became inevitable unless the younger unit of project 1143 return to rescue him quickly. But even after almost an hour now, Novorossiysk was still nowhere in sight. Maybe he should really cut back on trying to lighten the mood, for so far it yielded nothing but agitating his superior worse and worse.

“Yes, sir. I will shut up until we hear something from Novorossiysk…” and from that second on, the two androids of similar 188 centimeters height spent another period of close to twenty minutes holding a staring contest. When the knocking finally materialized, the third body of the same stature opened the barrier made of hardwood to see this strange scene.

“Hey, you know our side and the US signed a treaty to de-escalate the tension last year. Can’t you live without Cold War or what?” 

Behind the younger unit of project 1143, through the narrow gap that left the door ajar… no matter how he tried his best to make his existence stealth, his ‘color’ always sold him out. No surprise Minsk could catch him real fast with the Atlant’s red kosovorotka taunting him like the bright cape of a matador. Like always, the oldest android out of the trio from Nikolaev caught the fear in those blue-gray lenses. For this time though, the fact that the youngest didn’t scurry away so fast as if he’d be killed at sight should be taken as an improvement, even if he still diverted his eyes on instinct.

  


“Out of your room at last, heh? Good! Come in here immediately!!”

  


The sharp bark from Pacific Fleet’s flagship almost sent the smaller cruiser back to hiding in his dorm room. Only for the light brown-haired android’s quickness to shove the door open and snatch his wrist halted Chervona Ukrayna in place.

“Rostislav, com’ere. Don’t be afraid... I’ve been assigned to look after you. Even that might mean I need to butt head with my own brother if he fails his own promise and harass you himself. Just stay behind me and all should be fine.”

Well, such talk perked Frunze’s interest to the fullest. And if it wasn’t for the formality of a flagship and subordinate’s relationship, he’d pull a chair and attentively wait for the ‘butt head’ event to happen. A scowl emerged on the expression of the unit with a darker shade of brown hair, “Since when does ‘asking him to testify what happened’ constitute to harassing?”

“I have worked hard to convince him to get out. If you make my effort nothing but wasted, I’m definitely going to get back at you in some way, bro.”

It took every last energy within the Orlan to stop himself from pulling a chair to seat as an official spectator and cheer them on. What he needed to do instead, was to convince the ‘Red Atlant’ to save him from this spot.

“Chervona Ukrayna! Thanks for coming! Please save me, I didn’t harm you at all, right?”

The reaction he got in return was the bright red newbie hid behind Novorossiysk.

“Only a blind person will not see that he fears you! Do I need to strangle you to get it out, Minya!!??” the booming bark renewed. Meanwhile, the intensity of the shouting sent ‘Rostislav’’ shrunk beyond the ‘wall’ of more robust physique in white uniform.

By a quick glance, one could tell Novorossiysk was truly getting fed up with this…

  


“Shut up before you’ll have more dignity lost by apologising to Minya.”

  


Dragging the chair with a screeching noise of metallic legs against the floor, the frail ‘red rag doll’ was sent up front and seated. “Tell them what you told me earlier, Rostislav,” instructed the mentor. The locks of red hair swung according to the nodding. Yet it still required a long time to form his speech and... courage.

“...C.. Commander, my a... a.. po.. lo... gies for...the..the ermm, my... childish be.. behavior, sir.”

With this level of stuttering, it would take an hour or longer to hear the whole thing. Not enough patience, Minsk at once stopped the pressured subordinate.

“Don’t get me wrong, Chervona Ukrayna. It’s clear that you let the fear taking over you. Let Novorossiysk speak in place of you. I need a clear understanding quickly so I can punish Minya without delay.”

There was no doubt the reason it took over an hour before he successfully coaxed the young Atlant was for Novorossiysk sitting down and listened to what the troubled youngster had to tell him. Firmly rested both on his hands over the red fabric covering Chervona Ukrayna’s shoulders, the former-secretary-now-somewhat-babysitter took over testifying for the ‘investigation’.

“I asked Rostik of what happened. Apparently, Minya didn’t really do anything harmful... other than he said that somehow Minya called him Kimchi once or twice…”

From the sudden turn of his head, so forcefully that it should break ordinary human’s neck, the only unit with black hair predicted that his superior would fly over his desk to strangle him if only his weight wasn’t well over a ton. Anyhow, that didn’t happen.

“Got it, I’ll remember that he doesn’t like Kimchi. Ah, and I thought the pronunciation is kinda cute…” that earned Frunze two glares from two pairs of blue-green eyes. The one from the flagship said, ‘ _what kind of wacko logic is that? And this still counts as harassment_ ’. Another from the unit with lightest hair conveyed something along the line of ‘ _you disappointed me, Minya_ ’.

  


A hand underneath white glove lifted up to make a gesture of surrender. “Yeah, I guess I was wrong for not asking if he’s comfortable with that name. But hear me out, I need to help him build ‘immunity’ to the nicknames thrown at him. If a nickname is used, but it’s not in a malicious tone, shouldn’t that be all right?”

Frunze’s pleading got the youngest android of the four to rethink of their encounter... true that while he was uncomfortable with the name, in the tone it lacked the typical sneer often accompanied names. Yet, the hesitation still loomed firmly over the meek android’s ability to speak up. The main trouble here wasn’t just how strong Frunze came onto him with his startling friendly attitude but also... there was another problem on his own side which wasn’t limited to his shyness. By confessing it would help pave his relationship with the well-liked Orlan, but... possibly adding more disappointment to his own eldest brother.

Therefore, Chervona Ukrayna maintained his silence while weighing his options internally.

  


And the ‘protector’ was quick to shove his opinion to the situation, “I think he already hates you for that. Minya. Whatever social skill charm you used to brag seems to have failed hard this time.”

Silently but not so secretly, the recently ‘fired’ secretary signaled his disagreement through eyes movement. According to what Frunze could intercept and ‘decode’ that gesture - ‘ _and you have no charm from the start, unlike him._ ’

He needed to apply considerable force to his jaw structure to not burst out laughing.

Warding off Minsk’s sneaky offense, the unit who took responsibility over the newest cruiser continued, “Putting the unauthorized nickname aside, it seemed the subjects of their conversation didn’t particularly disturb our boy here. Instead... it’s something else I would prefer for him to speak up by himself.”

“Oh?” in response, the sturdy frame of the Pacific Fleet flagship leaned fully forward, clearly anticipating what he was about to hear. 

On the other hand, ‘Rostislav’ wasn’t yet ready. His insecure blue-gray eyes sought for reassurance from the less strict unit who also shared his hometown. Out of mercy, Novorossiysk obligingly lent a bit of physical support in a form of a small pat on that very red back.

“I... um, if... if... Frunze could just... discard the use of nickname. Then... I, I have no... ill feeling toward him for... our con..conversation, Commander.”

“Just to let you know, don’t hold back, kid. Spew anything you feel he is at fault so I can punish him accordingly.”

The unit with gray eyes internally moaned at his lousy fate. He himself could, with ease, find false with his superior for being unfairly biased. Though after learning how the source of Minsk’s bias was being constantly harassed, maybe it was fair. Even so, he wished he wasn’t the receiving end of this unfair judgement.

Shifting his head a little to allow a frightened glance at Frunze, Chervona Ukrayna returned to being voluntarily muted again. Frustration rose over the harsh flagship rapidly and he banged the wooden surface of his work desk, completely shook the timid android in red to the point he nearly scurried away from danger instinctively and fell of the chair. Novorossiysk secured his hands on the shaken newbie to hold him steady so he wouldn’t end up crashing on the floor, all the while giving a disapprove gaze at his own older brother.

  


“I said speak it out, kid! I can’t solve problems for you if you won’t let me know what the actual fuck is wrong!!”

  


Still holding his reproachful look, the second unit of project 1143 in the easternmost fleet remarked, “I’m sure Minya would want to say this, too, but his position won’t allow it. So I’m saying it for him - are you going to punish yourself as well for harassing Chervona Ukrayna?”

With that, this turn Minsk’s death glare settled right on his own younger brother.

“What do you mean by that?”

And the second oldest Nikolaev native countered, “Don’t try pulling the seniority on me, Minsk. Being the second and the third means by now with the amount of years I served, I no longer need to listen to you anymore other than the condition that you’re a flagship.”

Next, he slipped his field of visual over the trembling body with ruby-shaded hair.

“There, there, calm down, Rostislav. I promise I won’t let him lay a hand on you without going through me first.”

Since none of the three pairs of eyes were on him by this minute, Frunze’s expression was one of the hypnotic interest. Did he just hear it right? Novorossiysk would willingly go for his own sibling’s throat in order to shield that Kimchi?

“You say you’re going to raise a hand against me, the flagship?”

“Not quite, I see it as whacking a cranky old man. And cranky doesn’t mean the sound your neck joints make from the lack of timely maintenance.”

  


That was it, Frunze failed to contain his laughter any longer. Without doubt, that rude reaction drew Minsk’s attention back at the ‘guilty’ Orlan and he wasted no time letting the younger unit know he was in more troubles.

  


“I swear I’m sending you off to guard Komandorski Islands alone once I’m finished here!”

“The problem, you’re not finished yet, brother. Rather far from it actually,” again, Novorossiysk negated his older brother’s tantrum efficiently. Between Chervona Ukrayna’s blank look and Frunze’s hysterical laugh, the vibe inside this usually solemn office was anything but normal.

“Fine, how about you quit acting like a smart rear and tell me what actually is the problem here - why are you fending off for Minya like a guard dog?!”

“Because I don’t think it’s fair for you to pile up yet another punishment on Minya for the fact that he’s being targeted by Slava.”

  


Though that statement was delivered by such clam voice, it resulted in major impact, especially when the name of the first Atlant was mentioned. The ‘guilty’ who was standing on trial ceased his laughter immediately in almost a choke-liked reaction. The ‘judge’ himself was equally floored; what did the Black Sea Fleet’s Atlant have to do with the situation thousands of kilometers away?

  


“! N— Novorossiysk, Please!! Let.. Let me tal\--- no, ex.. explain by myself!”

  


Talked about awkward social cue. No one knew why their ‘Rostislav’ needed to stammer the entire thing out in such fumbling urgency. Possibly an attempt to force himself to do it before his courage wither away again?

“Oh sure. You’re good to talk at last? Be my guest, little Rostik.” That took long enough the oldest of Nikolaev trio wasn’t even sure if he wanted to get annoyed at such fact anymore.

“I... erm, I’m afraid of Frunze be... because... Slava, he... my brother wants me to d... defeat him, sir”

A creaking sound echoed through the confined room as the flagship leaned back heavily into his chair. Good grief, that first unit of project 1164... he was certainly something. What kind of rivalry was this? Against the project he never gotten to serve with even. Calming himself down over such appalling nonsense, Minsk carefully prodded the spooked youngster for more in-depth intel.

“Did he only pile that expectation on you alone, or even Ustinov got caught in it, too?”

As he feared, the meek redhead gave a nod, “Yes, sir. Even Stasi— ...Ustinov was told by my eldest brother to…”

Those blue-gray lenses cast an anxious look at the second Orlan who stood the farthest from him. He swallowed his fear and whispered in an extremely cautious manner, “..my second brother’s target is Kirov himself, sir.”

The pair who both went through the chance to experience Kirov’s notoriety of being an enigma, uncommunicative individual matched their gaze at each other without cue. To them it was more than obvious... the pitiful second Atlant was up for a mountainous task. And then, not to mention last year, the third Orlan, Kalinin, also arrived to Severomorsk as a full-fledge combatant unit. Naturally, while the second Orlan himself could predict the reaction of his first younger sibling, Ustinov was, out of question, outnumbered in the Northern Fleet.

  


Shaking his head in deep sympathy, Frunze mumbled his dissatisfaction.

“Can I just... call him sometime? I strongly would love to know his motive. Defeat us? What is even the point! There is no competition of any kind here!! We both faithfully serve the best interest of our nation and that’s it!”

Meanwhile, the oldest unit of project 1143 in the Far East baffled how to handle this new situation arose right in front of his eyes. But again, the unique unit known as Minya proved to be very adaptable in a social situation as he readily approached the troubled cruiser.

  


“Hey,” he crouched down on his two powerful legs to support his weight of over a thousand kilograms of his physique. Hopefully, this gesture wouldn’t put the easily intimidated newcomer into ‘flight’ mode again. 

“Just now, exactly, what do you think of me, Chervona Ukrayna? Are you seeing me as someone threatening toward you or are we cool?”

That was a question Chervona Ukrayna needed quite a lengthy period to contemplate. Luckily, as of this minute, Minsk no more felt the need to rush everything. He also fell into contemplating mode himself, no doubt for the best outcome in his fleet.

“No…” it was clear the youngest cruiser right in this minute literally choked on words, as he was having a heavy difficulty to spell them out. “Not that, I... ah”

Obviously the Red Atlant himself frustrated with his own lack of ability to communicate fluidly. Once more, the more gregarious android seized the opportunity to show that he never viewed the new colleague from Nikolaev as a rival or anything unpleasant. Frunze’s frame lifted up as he gave a friendly, gentle pat on Chervona Ukrayna’s thigh.

“Don’t worry about it. If you’re not sure what is my status in your eyes, then no problem! As long as you don’t see me as your enemy, all is fine!! Let’s hang out together some more, shall we?”

Although with reluctance delaying the response, the answer was a slow, meek nod from the third Atlant. The second Orlan beamed at that reply he got, “Excellent!!! You know I never ever consider you anything but a potential friend, got it? Let me help you adjust to the Far East! Like, we are the sole representative of our class here anyway, why not just stick together?”

“Take it easy there, Minya. Don’t be too pushy, even if you mean well. Our Rostik needs time to think, okay?” 

The quietest unit in the quartet was thankful for the consideration showed by his ‘sitter’, who diligently intercepted the direction of the event. And the sole unit born in Leningrad complied.

  


“Well, I guess now everything has cleared up?”

  


It was almost as if that statement aimed at the flagship. Minsk’s expression was less than pleased… he messed up big time trying to corner the Orlan.

“Doesn’t mean you will still get away if you ever be an ass to him later. So watch your steps and your interactions with him. Any minute I hear you harm him no matter how small, you have me to answer to!!”

“You will let him off the hook scorch free for today?” The older ‘gyrfalcon’ swore he hated that slight merry tone in his younger brother’s voice.

“As you wish. Go, Minya. Get lost before I change my mind.”

Needn’t to be told twice. The dark-haired ‘eagle’ waved at the seated ‘red’ android before slipping out as ordered. Novorossiysk stepped back and activated his hearing sensory to listen to the footsteps, to make sure the Orlan was indeed leaving. Still with stiff posture, Chervona Ukrayna sat without a clue whether he’d also have the permission to leave, or, if there was any more problem he needed to answer to for his problematic behaviors and poor decisions.

“Yep, he’s gone. Already moving toward the front door.”

  


Right back in the center of the room, Minsk’s posture was as if it could no longer hold such intimidating energy that kept it right up. He slumped on his desk, startling the newest addition who came from the same city. The younger carrier shrugged and continued his ‘babying’ duty, “Well, now you see he’s no perfect flagship either. So relax, will you?”

“Hey, enough of it. You’re not free from trouble yet, Chervona Ukrayna. We need to talk about that hiding stunt you pulled. I know you’re unsettled by the harassment, but locking yourself in the dorm is going too far.”

“I’m… sincerely sorry, Commander.”

By now taken off most of his frightened flagship facade, the oldest of the Nikolaev-born trio rose from his desk, rounding it, then landed his right palm on that fluff of ruby red hair.

“You better have more confidence in me, stupid kid. Holding the flagship rank doesn’t mean I’m here to make your life miserable. On contrary, I’m here to deal with whatever makes your life miserable. Next time, don’t ever pull that mole’s behavior again. This flagship thing… they never programmed into my brain when I came out from our hometown how should I handle it. It’s something that just drops on me on its own, depending on the decision of the human commanders. There are days when I’m about as clueless as you are now what will be the appropriate and efficient way to deal with obstacles that come up.”

‘Rostik’ obediently listened to that preaching, though did not understand why his commander chose to lay it on him.

“Because the lack of communication from your side, Frunze almost got punished when he didn’t… particularly… do anything wrong. Don’t do that again.” as if in response, the meek ‘Red Atlant’ recoiled to the scolding.

“Next time if a problem arises, just come straight and tell me. If I knew Slava put that kind of pressure on you, I could relieve you from that pressure real quickly. Even if Slava may be your eldest brother, he is no match to authority from direct fleet flagship. I’ll hit him back that I’ll allow none of that competition in my fleet and you’ll be just fine to hang out with Frunze.”

  


Seeing how his ‘old man’ stubbornly hanged onto the respected flagship acting, Novorossiysk lent a hand to smash that lingered facade into pieces himself. 

“Come on, don’t just lecture him. You owe him a praise and you know it.”

“Darn you… can you not ruin my plan for a minute?” what praise were they talking about here?

Growling in his throat preceding the actual speech, Minsk struggled to be positive for once as the flagship. He didn’t even look at the timid subordinate in the eyes while saying what needed to be said, “Heard you finally talk to Fokin? That’s a good step. He’s mature enough not join in the silly charade of calling you name so you know you can trust him. Besides, he’s old; he knows a lot regarding this region. Get on his good side and you’ll learn a lot.”

The mention of his roommate’s name puzzled the young cruiser until he realized his roommate likely reported the occasion to their flagship even before Novorossiysk popped in to drag him out of their room.

“Keep that up, you need to build connection here. Adding Admiral Fokin to your side will be more valuable than you’d think. Luckily the Sarych bunch is already on your side, thanks to Bystryy. But adding Frunze will be critical. That guy is everybody’s best friend, meaning other androids will do as he says in most cases.”

The flagship who bore the name of the most important city in SSR Belarus concluded his speech. With no right out reaction, ‘Red Ukraine’ assessed on the advice he just received… certainly being on a friendly term with his roommate would do him more good. So through his usual ever faint, yet masculine voice, he acknowledged what he had to do, “I will, sir…”

“Well, then… you’re hereby dismissed. And hopefully you won’t have to return to this office so soon.”

Just as the younger gyrfalcon prepared to depart with their first Atlant, Minsk halted him on the spot, “Nah, you stay here. I have several issues to go over with you.”

For a brief moment, being separated from his usual ‘sitter’ worried the inexperienced unit, until he recalled how he made progress without realizing it with how he at last opened up to his roommate. Maybe this time it was no different. He only needed to leap for a small step and see what would happen... 

  


“I… I will try my best, sir,” and the scaredy-cat member of project 1164 quickly dug out. Two pairs of green-blue eyes watched the door closed, each fell into deep thought over different subjects.

...But to their guess how it shouldn’t be very far from their location yet, erupted a loud jeer from the corridor, “Ahhhh!! You’re out to greet the sun at last, Tomato! What have you been doing holing up in your room like a bullied kindergarten kid?!”

“They just won’t leave him alone, do they?” resignation overshadowed Novorossiysk’s tone.

“You can probably start recording their deed from now. By the time I’m gone you can just deal with them for every deed they committed at once.”

The hidden message alerted Novorossiysk’s full attention in an instant, “They already agreed on the schedule?” Minsk needed to enter a mid-life repair next year, and they were already in the very last week of 1990.

  


“Unfortunately, no… but I expect it will come at the time that will leave us with a very short time to prepare for my departure,” terrible state of mind returned to the easternmost fleet’s commander among androids. He always hated how humans never stayed true to schedule. Nonetheless, Minsk looked forward to the return ‘home’ - as there was no other facility with capability to accommodate the process he would likely spend three or four years in. “And perhaps, I’ll see our two younger cousins at home.”

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** [Komandorski Islands ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Commander_Islands)are a group of islands to the east of Kamchatka Peninsula, one of the islands is the place where Vitus Bering passed away.
> 
> ** ' ** _our two younger cousins_** ' mentioned by Minsk at the end means **Admiral Flota Sovetskogo Soyuza Kuznetsov** and **Varyag** (now Liaoning and belongs to Chinese navy)


	18. A Low Rumble of the Dying USSR

  


March 1991… it had been three months since the meek ‘Red Atlant’ became a member of the Pacific Fleet. Not much had changed in terms of his individual development - he was still a target of verbal bullying by the ‘more seasoned’ members of warfare android troops. The Sarych lot, leading by Bystryy, still escorted their fleet’s first ‘carrier killer’ daily and Chervona Ukrayna’s personal trust to the Far East was still misplaced.

What did change for the better, was his rapport with the unit he once indecisive whether to view him as friend or foe.

Decisively Frunze was a friend. And his most valuable one at that.

  


At the same period, though, there was also a change on the opposite corner of the USSR from where the two cruiser androids stood. A major one, unprecedented beyond what androids like them could comprehend.

“The three republics on the Baltic?? The government accepted their independence?!”

Firstly, as an upheaval among the human personnel, soon after that news also circled around the androids. The earliest reaction came from the Fregat brothers, as their youngest was yet to be commissioned and stuck in their hometown of Kaliningrad, along with what troops of the Baltic Fleet stationed at Baltiysk. With this, the Navy lost several Baltic bases at once - Klaipeda, Liepaja and Tallinn were among them.

Even if politics was usually the subject left unincluded in android’s inorganic brain, such major happening eventually came in contact with them through television. While it wasn’t their habit to stick in front of the electronic device daily, with how the news ran headline nonstop for weeks… it was near impossible to miss. However, their inability to comprehend humans' political activities was evident… for them endlessly debating why those three states craved freedom so much. And at the same time, some of them, with significant concern, desperately searching for the smallest hint of where the next ‘crack’ of parts potentially sought to break from USSR might be.

One of those androids who had taken deep fear of such a situation was Chervona Ukrayna.

To all the other androids he had formed trust, everyday they got bombarded with requests of reassurance by the ‘Red Atlant’ that Vladivostok and Far East would not repeat the same feat. Even Admiral Fokin, the third Atlant’s roommate, could feel his patience was running thin.

  


Along with several other warship androids under the flag of Pacific Fleet, Fokin - also known as Vitalik among his fleetmates, sat next to the younger carrier in the recreation area of their living accommodation. On the television was the state news program and unavoidably the main topic was decisively surrounded the circumstance in the farthest west side.

“How many of us actually affected by this…?” Novorossiysk mumbled aloud, for he himself was lucky enough that none of his ‘family’ served in that fleet.

“Even if… well, it looked like this incident just granted that rascal Shaposhnikov another good offense on our Vovka. Kaliningrad is now cut off and alone between Lithuania and Poland. Vovka may also worry for his younger sibling, but it’s certainly not the same intensity as those born in Yantar.” The cruiser who was within the group of longest-serving members could gauge the reaction of the fellow ‘Leningrad-born’. In a casual coincidence, they were born in the same shipyard roughly two decades apart.

And Fokin himself still didn’t worry much regarding possibility of his hometown seceding. “I thought… they want independence because… they’re different in this ‘ethnics’ thing?”

But none of the humanoid-shaped machines there understood such an abstract subject. The third 1143 himself could only shake his head in puzzlement, “I guess then my home region is safe, too. I see nothing different between… these supposedly ‘Ukrainian’ and ‘Russian’ they sometime mentioned.”

“That’s the thing, we do not understand what’s going to happen…” the roommate of the ‘red’ cruiser trailed off. “Although it’s indeed annoying, one couldn’t say our little Rostik worries over the unimaginable thing, right?”

Novorossiysk kept quiet until he noticed none of the Far East natives in the fleet was within close distance to them. “If Far East also…? I don’t know about our colleagues who are natives to this region but for us, who originated from the European part… we’ll bail out, correct?” To which Fokin discreetly nodded to agree.

“We swore allegiance to the capital. Just hope the worst won’t happen…” the ‘Worst’ couldn’t mean anything but a confrontation between those native to the European parts of USSR and the locals who came into existence in the Far East.

The topic died on its own with no effort from either androids to keep it alive. Even though there should be a procedure to counter such an unexpected development… they just had no motivation to earnestly talk about it. Having to turn their own armaments against their fleetmates solely because of their different place of origin was nothing short of utterly absurd, none of them wanted to talk about it, yet they couldn’t help but concerned about the more immediate trouble they were facing…

...even if the Far East did secede, how many of them would be able to make the escape?

  


  


A few knockings hit the wooden door to the room occupied by a pair of Sarych brothers. A head with bright red hair then poked from behind the opened door. He was almost like another member of this clan despite being of a different project altogether. Unlike others, Chervona Ukrayna chatted up with the pair that room belonged to without difficulty, “Hi Osmotritelnyy. Hi Stoykiy, how are you today?’

The question directed at the former, whose shape wasn’t at his best right now. Recently it became known of a major flaw in the design of the androids in project 956, potentially shortened their durability in active duty significantly. There had been a few cases materialized in the other fleets, but for the easternmost fleet… that cursed problem picked its target on the eldest member of the destroyers from Leningrad. Hence Osmotritelnyy mostly stayed in his room as if he was an ailing person. The economic situation forbade any correction to be done on him promptly to address the trouble.

“Hey, what’s up, Rostik? I’m so-so, nothing gets worse and also nothing gets better.” Osmotritelnyy was resting on his bed. Too much movement bugged him how his physical functioning was restricted.

“I’m kinda worried, I… haven’t seen you outside for a few days. Is there anything new about… when they may send you for a repair?” 

“Well, the older guys are going to hate me for this… I think they will. Some time within this year, I hope.” an expression of relief flushed over the face with vivid red eyebrows. He moved toward the sole desk in the room and pulled the chair. It was uneasy not to stay in contact with the older Sarych who had so far become his surrogate family in the Far East.

“There supposes to be another of your younger brother coming to our fleet, isn’t it? Bystryy will be happy to have his own ‘younger sibling’.” Two units of the said project looked at each other briefly. “He was commissioned just days before the end of December. Should take a while before he’ll transfer.” Explained the third Sarych in the fleet.

“What’s more interesting though…” Osmotritelnyy leaned against the wall, “How about you, Rostik? Your first younger brother also already awakened, right?”

The third Atlant recalled the complication which delayed his departure from home for such a long time and didn’t look too happy. “It took… six years after they awakened me to get commissioned. I’m afraid… Lobov... isn’t going to leave Nikolaev soon. Especially… with the economy like this…” 

“To be honest, we fear for the same thing about our younger siblings, too.” 

Such proclamation took the cruiser by surprise, “How??” 

“Not Bezboyaznenyy but those even younger than him,” Stoykiy was deep in thought. “They planned to construct like… over twenty of us. Bezboyaznenyy is only the thirteenth, so that means there are at least seven more of our younger siblings planned. But even new kid like you notice it, Rostik. Economy is certainly not the same as when they commissioned me or Osmotritelnyy. If nothing changes, there might not be twenty of us like the initial plan anymore.”

The ‘sick android’ who spent most time laying on his bed then cut in curiously, “Say, and where… will Lobov get assigned to?”

Though not really comfortable with the topic, he was obliged to pay back for their kindness for quickly warming up to him. Through a very low voice, he confessed, heavily tinged with fear.

  


“Baltic Fleet as far as I know.”

  


Both ‘Buzzards’ went ‘Oh, DAMN’ inside their head. Stoykiy, again, was quick to rescue the conversation.

“If the Baltic region is too unstable, they can always just shift him to Black Sea Fleet. Maybe by the time he’s ready to serve as an active combatant unit they may accept such a decision. Isn’t he going to be safe staying with your oldest brother?”

“Slava’s check up falls in this year, too. I think in spring? But… maybe you’re right, Stoykiy. Slava will go back home and… Lobov can get to know him even before he receives commissioning order.” Again, the ‘Red Atlant’ fell silent for a brief period, “How long do you think Slava’s check up and repair will last?”

How was he supposed to know? On the other hand, he fully understood that at this moment this ‘baby giant among buzzard’s nest’ needed reassurance to keep him calm.

Blue eyes of lightened sky shade from Stoykiy shifted expectedly at his local oldest brother.

“Nu… I estimate about… two years? With this kind of economy though, let’s just say three. But worry not! Slava is our navy’s valuable asset, so he’ll definitely come back to duty. Maybe better yet you’ll hear both him returning and Lobov coming to the Black Sea Fleet at the same time!” Trying to force as much confidence as he could into those phrases, Osmotritelnyy detested how he had to lie to the surrogate unit who looked up to him.

“If you say so I shall believe it,” just like that, Chervona Ukrayna looked to be wholeheartedly putting faith to Osmotritelnyy’s statement.

The brothers sneaked a quick glance at each other. Now they hoped that would truly happen.

  


“Oh hey, Rostik,” the Sarych unit who hadn’t gone out for a few days already thought he knew something he needed to warn the neurotic overwhelming-red android. “I know you’re… uncertain about the future of the Far East. But beware not to voice your concern anywhere near Shaposhnikov.”

The preliminary reaction read from his face told the third Atlant didn’t quite follow those words. He was aware that Shaposhnikov was… somewhat of a problematic member of the fleet. So far they hadn’t really come into conflict. So why a problem?

“You have all the entitlement to worry about what might happen in the future. The thing is, don’t forget that very thing worrying you already affected the Fregat clan. Be considerate…” Stoykiy stepped in to finish his oldest sibling’s warning.

An irritated growl emerged from the unit of project 956 who witnessed the very first trouble caused by ‘legitimate child’ of project 1155.

“Luckily you arrived after Nikolka. So you have yet to see the whole mess that tantrum child can create.”

Blinking, the new cruiser stayed quiet and let them talk.

“The key reason is, the Fregat… they have yet another younger brother still in Kaliningrad. That kid is said to be assigned to our fleet. If we’re lucky and he can escape Kaliningrad in case something terrible happens… well, you’ll see Novorossiysk and Commander Minsk at work to the fullest. The last time Minya solved the situation, but we were darn lucky he was at the base. Can’t tell when the next Fregat arrives, if he may go out to patrol the sea.” 

Baffled by the history Stoykiy told, ‘Red Ukraine’ kept listening to what Osmotritelnyy had to say next.

“After three years, we’re still not sure how many wrong buttons are there one can accidentally push on Shaposhnikov. Heed my words and do it for your own sake, Rostik. Stay close to Minya, he’s used to it enough to know how to thwart it.”

The largest frame among the three couldn’t respond verbally, for words didn’t come to him during such intense processing. Alas, he only nodded.

Before Osmotritelnyy could go on with his ramble, the sign of his declining health made itself apparent. Thick, sooty smoke leaked along words slipped from the third Sarych’s oral cavity. A sense of alarm crossed the third Atlant’s face at such sight - for he only had seen similar substance before as the result of rubber burning.

“Hey, bro! You better rest your engine.” true to his name which meant ‘steadfast’, Stoykiy was quick to show his concern. A sharp reaction of frustration materialized as a frown before the ‘sicked’ obeyed.

Understood what ‘rest the engine’ meant, Chervona Ukrayna conceded that their chat must end here. Osmotritelnyy needed ‘sleep’, or shutting down his system for a period of time, despite androids like them didn’t biologically need rest. Normally, androids with conventional fuel like them operate having to ‘sleep’ because something went wrong inside their body… was something new to him. Continuously like those with nuclear fuel, but they only slept to conserve fuel.

“How long will you sleep this time?”

“I’ll try five days. You just saw how three days weren’t enough. The smoke came back way too soon.” With a nod, their visitor moved, ready to make himself scarce.

“Anyway, it seems like the commanding level will have something to say about his repair schedule in two or three weeks. So you bet my brother definitely don’t want to oversleep and don’t hear it for himself.” Commented the younger of the Sarych pair in this room.

“Got it. Rest well, Osmotritelnyy. I’ll see you later, then.” Soon the door closed behind the robust frame in the bright red garment. Footsteps led away from the corridor behind the concrete wall, then proceeded toward the farther staircase. Still with his escort instinct, Stoykiy scooped toward the wall, placing his body at the foot of his older brother’s bed in process. Peeling through the blind which protected their room windows, the brothers looked down, awaited for their surrogate sibling to emerge from the front door of the dormitory building. Not having to wait too long, the figure topped by ruby colored hair slowly came into their field of vision.

  


They watched as some of their colleagues walked past by, along with a ‘flinch’ reaction from Chervona Ukrayna. There was no doubt about it. The older guys were taunting the pitiful red unit again. “You better go and escort him, bro,” noted the ‘ill’ unit.

“How long before your system shut down?” Androids like them couldn’t just immediately stop their inner mechanics from working spontaneously. Just like how humans rarely slept the second their head hit the pillow, they needed to execute a command to their inorganic brain to count down on shutting down.

“45 seconds… go now, seriously. I’m ready to snooze. You don’t need to watch me sleep, do you?”

“All right…” conceded the third. Patting Osmotritelnyy’s shoulder, Stoykiy grumbled at the terrible situation their fleet was in at this moment, “Those old guys need to cut it. If you, a newer unit than they are, are having difficulty getting the maintenance you require, they’re less likely to receive any. And who knows when was the last time each of them even visit a shipyard. Rostik is such a pleasant kid, those guys better learn to treat him properly… so they…” Even as an android, the idea was hard for him to swallow.

  


“They won’t be remembered as jerks who never treat Rostik nicely. When their time runs out…”

  


* * *


	19. Cracks Under the False Hopes

  


“I see… thanks for letting me know.”

  


With a click, the handset of telephone rested where it belonged to conclude the conversation. It wasn’t the phone on Minsk’s desk. Instead, it was the one sitting within the area of the recreational foyer of their androids’ living accommodation.

Through the glass panel of windows along the wall, orangish sunlight streamed into the building. Vladivostok was always well ahead of the time in Murmansk. Shifting his stance, then crossed the space to the closest seating furniture, something weighed his thoughts down, something heavier than the weight he sat on the chosen chair preoccupied Frunze’s mind. Most of the fleetmates in the easternmost fleet infrequently realized the second Orlan kept contact with acquaintances from the Northern Fleet. They normally thought of Kirov when matching Frunze with communicating with the fleet near the Arctic.

But in reality the black-haired ‘nuclear eater’ never made a phone call to his older brother. It was utterly futile. For Kirov would just listen, but void of verbal response.

Yet, it was Kirov who was the core of the conversation he just had.

An ‘acquaintance’ told him there was some trouble Kirov experienced from his last trip to the Mediterranean. Veiled by confusions, it had been an entire year before it became clear of the situation. At first it was that Kirov only needed rest and repair, then the repair turned into the primary subject… now though, they had silenced words on repair. ‘Put to sleep’ and ‘deactivate’. Those two choices rose as the genuine possibilities that would happen to his eldest brother.

Nonetheless, whatever fate might wait for ‘Sergunya’, the sole unit of project 1144 in the Pacific region had no intention to whine. As strange as it sounded, Kirov was a ‘grown’ one. There was nothing Frunze should worry for his older brother, for Murmansk was likely highly secured. The main garrison of the Northern Fleet seceding? Not going to happen. EVER.

  


On the other hand, such confidence couldn’t be said to the Fregat clan. All four of them, whose hometown was now sandwiched between Poland and the newly independent Lithuania, presented just meters away from him. If there was anybody rightfully concerned of their sibling’s well-being, it would be them.

  


The youngest, the sixth Fregat supposed to join their fleet had yet to leave Kaliningrad.

  


Situation deteriorated significantly since the fifth, Vinogradov, made an appearance to Vladivostok. While the threat from the major state across the Pacific lessened, now internal instability rocked their state from within. Worst yet, the root of it was something androids like them couldn’t comprehend, nor fight against to preserve the stability of the USSR. Of what he stealthily picked up on their conversation here and there, the pack of Kaliningrad natives feared for Lithuania’s attempt to increase their land, hence settling their eyes on Kaliningrad… although Zakharov speculated it unlikely - Kaliningrad was the westernmost ‘fortress’ with numerous military units. Tempering with the cut-off enclave would be unwise…

Absented from the gathering was Tributs. To make the situation even stranger was the fact that Shaposhnikov was, at this minute, also absent. Order from the central commanding sent the prideful Kaliningrad native to the region where the Gulf War was raging. Curiously, the gray eyes which matched those on the three Fregats scanned the place… before catching his fellow Leningrad-born stood partially hidden along the secondary corridor.

The ‘illegitimate child’ of the project 1155 acknowledged Frunze approaching, but displayed no intention to move from the spot. As if to answer without having to resort to causing a verbal reaction, ‘Vovka’ raised his hand to show something. A box packaging of pryanik he earlier went into Vladivostok’s commercial district for.

“Now don’t judge me, please, Minya. I know very well androids like us have no use for a rush of sugar during stressful moments. But… I think they all deserve a distraction… so to say.”

“Why hesitate to join them?” prodded the taller unit. “The fact that you’re not ‘born’ in Kaliningrad, isn’t it?”

Tributs nodded half-heartedly.

“Everyone but Boryushka made me blend in so much it never bothers me until now. I have no idea what their home shipyard is like. Will it be easy for our Yura to escape in case of emergency… you know, Minya, our homes are just a stone’s throw from the Gulf of Finland. Zakharov told me Kaliningrad is about 20 kilometers from Baltic Sea. And then to reach the actual sea they have to pass a narrow canal… no wonder they’re worried sick.”

Listening to Tributs’ trouble, the usually sociable Orlan seized the opportunity to snatch the pastries box from the smaller android’s grasp. “Fine, I’ll do the delivery job for you then!”

  


Not giving a chance for the Leningrad Fregat to utter his protest, long legs under light-colored trousers brought Frunze right to the spot of sofa arrangement the ‘Frigate birds’ nested… if one would comically select a word fitting for their project name. “Эй ребята, как дела!” called the ‘eagle’ before ushering the box into Spiridonov’s hand.

“I’m stealing Vovka away for a bit, okay? You all thank him for these pryanik when I send him back!”

And swiftly, the owner of the dark blue cape was out with his fellow Leningradskiy before anyone could mutter a word. They only glimpsed quickly their brother who rapidly got ‘carted’ toward the outside by the powerful nuclear powered unit. Who could ever refuse Frunze, anyway? Even the flagship who absolutely reigned over Vladivostok’s troops of warfare androids had a hard time cornering him. But again, everyone, except Minsk, loved him for his enthusiasm to socialize with other members of the same fleet.

  


  


Minutes later, they were standing together leaning onto the concrete wall of the main HQ building. The sun was behind them, casting a lengthy red ray against the sky draping over the Sea of Japan. Winter or not, Vladivostok never suffered from the fate of Polar Night.

“Now, now. I think I heard something interesting from you earlier. You mentioned ‘Yura’.” There was a cheeky smile creeping on Frunze’s face. “The next one, his name is Yuriy, da???”

“Oomph, I did slip and called him so?” 

“YEAH!!” Now that smile morphed into a full grin, “We need a plan, Vovka!” Not the direction Tributs expected their conversation would go, so he couldn’t process fast enough of what ‘plan’ his best supporter from the same hometown was gushing about here.

“Huh? What plan-“ and his question got cut off by the visibly overly excited Orlan.

“My other younger brother… you know the fourth?! His name is also Yuriy!” Took a couple of seconds before those sentences dawned on the smaller Fregat unit, “Ah! You mean Andropov?”

“Right!” confirming with a firm hand on Tributs’ white officer shirt-cladded shoulder, the unit with black hair went on. “I think they will deploy him here? In the Northern Fleet there are already Sergunya and… Misha.” Good grief, WHY did Kalinin also have to possess the same first name ‘Mikhail’?! “So I’m alone here and, although the tension with Americans deescalated, it didn’t move their territory away from the Pacific one bit. I don’t see the need why the higher ups will deploy him to the Black Sea. And he’ll be too powerful for the Baltic region.”

“In short, you’re super excited to have a younger brother here?” 

By how Shaposhnikov reacted to him trying to assert his ‘older brother’ status, Tributs had long forgotten the excitement of meeting a younger unit of the same project for the first time. While there was Kalinin as the third unit of the project 1144, Frunze left almost a full five years before the Navy commissioned Kalinin. So if the fourth, Yuriy Andropov, indeed assigned to Vladivostok - it’d be the first time Frunze interact with his own ‘little brother’.

Even if he knew the intention behind this ‘siblings with coincidental same name’ talk was to distract him, the reddish brown haired unit was genuinely happy for Frunze.

“No, no - you miss the point completely, Vovka!” exclaimed second oldest of project 1144, as if his companion committed some grave crime. “IF my Yuriy deploys here, we’ll flank you just like Minsk and Novorossiysk do to Chervona Ukrayna!”

  


To say that suggestion floored Tributs would be an inexcusable understatement.

  


“Hey, you don’t believe my lil brother will go with my plan?” That mocked frown on Frunze finally forced Vovka to lose it. A wave of laughter emitted from the shorter figure. In a recovery, he interjected, “You can’t be serious, Minya! Two ‘carrier killers’... flanking a mere ASW unit?”

“Again, that’s not the crucial point, Volodechka,” hearing that strangely affectionate diminutive used on him couldn’t make Tributs sober faster. 

The outgoing Orlan faked coughing, mimicking human’s behaviour when demanded attention. “Your ordeal with Boryushka will certainly win you a support from my brother. And I’m sure he will agree to be on your side. So seriously, don’tcha think we can turn the table and get back at Boryushka this way?”

“Um… being buddies with you and your brother? Getting back at him… how?”

“Come on, think about it! If you’re best bud with TWO Orlans, then you’re the coolest guy in the fleet! The very reason Boryushka uses to alienate you will be the very reason it happens!”

Well, sure. He realized Frunze meant well, but the proposal didn’t look too bright. “I have a premonition you’re setting me up to be the most hated guy in our fleet for that. Getting your and Andropov’s attention solely because I’m the only Fregat born in Leningrad… geez, maybe even my Sarych brood will shun me.”

Not wanting to admit his defeat, the unit stood at the height of 188 centimeters used his 12 centimeters advantage to hover over Tributs, imitating an intimidation.

Soon, the pair of powerful hands beneath pristine white gloves gripped tightly on the shoulders under the shirt of the same color. And then… Frunze just shook Tributs like humans would do to a malfunctioning vending machine.

“Oh yeah? Think you know everything thoroughly? I’m gonna prove you wrong!”

No one would pay much attention to what the larger android did to the Fregat, for they had seen the merry Orlan playfully joked around the fleet for years. But to a newbie’s eyes? Things could be difficult to tell.

  


“Minya…? Are you…”

  


The incoming third voice had a powerful guttural tone in it. Couldn’t anyone else… the matching twin pairs of gray eyes moved up to see Chervona Ukrayna stood several meters away, with an uncertain look on his face. They realized what they were doing might have looked like to the newest unit to arrive to Vladivostok.

“Uh… NO, Chervona Ukrayna. He’s not bullying me. We’re just fooling around.” Tributs was quick to clear things up. It was impossible for him not to be aware of how the first meeting between Frunze and the meek cruiser from Nikolaev went. The last thing he should want to happen was the new carrier killer unit to misunderstand Frunze… again.

Luckily, the red-haired android seemed to accept his explanation, seeing Frunze had completely ceased his physical contact with the smaller Fregat.

“We were just talking about our little brothers. Listen, Rostik. Believe it or not, my next brother and Vovka’s both named Yuriy! It’s going to be fun!”

Above those confused blue-gray eyes, the synthetic material eyelids gave a blink. He wasn’t sure he got it…

“Minya said he suspects the fourth Orlan could be deployed to our fleet,” clarified the Fregat. “And well, if we suddenly get two newbies with the name Yuriy at the same time, there’s going to be some competition over who will get which diminutive.”

“Why?” That was when the two Leningrad-born units recalled… Chervona Ukrayna didn’t carry a ‘human name’ as his official name. And most of the time, the units carried ‘abstract names’ like him lacked diminutive. The fate shared by the Sarych bunch. And included those named after cities like Minsk and Novorossiysk, too.

“Hmmm… it’s preferred that only one unit use a certain diminutive especially for themselves, Rostik. Like me, while there are other ‘Mikhail’ all over the USSR, I’m the only one exclusively using ‘Minya’. Even my younger brother Kalinin, whose namesake also ‘Mikhail’, has to opt for Mikha.”

With a slow, affirming nod, the red Atlant dropped his initial suspicion and joined in with the other two colleagues. “So when someone calls out Minya, it will directly imply to you, and no other who may also named Mikhail?”

“Yep, that’s the idea.” Finger under the white glove then playfully poked at Tributs reddish hair. “Ask Vovka how complicated it could be. He has THREE siblings, all with the first name ‘Nikolay’.”

That statement summoned an incredulous look from the unit in the traditional garment. Vovka could only offer Chervona Ukrayna a weak smile, finding it’s uneasy to explain. “Just as Minya says. You know our Nikolka - Vinogradov, right?” A bobbing motion of head full of vivid red hair followed. “Yep… then there’s another two in the Northern Fleet - Kulakov and the most recent, Kharlamov. I’m not sure which diminutive Kharlamov is taking, but Kulakov goes by Nikasha.”

“Therefore… if you say Nikolka, everyone in your class will know instantly it’s Vinogradov. And if it’s Nikasha… Kulakov?”

“Correct, that’s how humans want it to work. I don’t know if this is easier or more confusing than our submarine colleagues who only go by one letter and number as ‘name’.” Now the confused look return to the most recent arrived again.

Minya’s gloved hand reached over to pat that head full of hair as red as a ruby. “Chill, Rostik. Don’t overwork your system. It’s not anything urgent so you can take time to learn about it.”

There was no word from the third unit of project 1164. Something preoccupied him again. Taking the hint from his somewhat tense body language, Frunze could narrow down the probable source of it. “Don’t worry. You’re fine just as you are. If my newest brother displays some attitude on you, I’ll tackle him and make sure he understands I will have none of it.”

“If… if you say so,” to gauge the reaction the fourth Orlan whom he had yet to meet was not easy. Thus those short words mutter was all the youngest commissioned Atlant could manage.

As the sky shift to a shade more resembled the kosovorotka belonged to Chervona Ukrayna, the trio of three different projects all occupied by inner reflecting regarding the situation within their own clan. For Frunze, though, he better swallowed his own worry about Kirov. Besides, no one needed to know about it here… that the prediction about Yuriy Andropov’s assignment to the Pacific Fleet was just something he made up to lighten the mood of the pair hanging out with him. 

Noting the location they were, the lone android whose duty specialized in neutralizing submarine threat remarked to the cruiser unit joining a few minutes ago.

“Say, you came to see Commander Minsk or Novorossiysk?” After all, they were outside of the HQ building, where the two ‘gyrfalcons’ made it their usual territory. Not quite able to guess the outcome of his confession, ‘Rostik’ only gave a quick ‘da’.

“My guess is Commander Minsk probably had enough of you diligently asking for his opinion on this… secession thing and he kicks you out?”

Unfortunately for Chervona Ukrayna, the rise of color on his face gave Frunze the clue he hit the bullseye.

“Trust me, Chervona Ukrayna. I see no sign nor reason Far East will follow what the three Baltic states did. We’re safe here, you have my words.” 

As the most important member of their fleet, Frunze took it his responsibility to instill confidence into his fellow androids. Even though deep down… he could only hope what he said out loud would stay true…

  


* * *


	20. It Happened

  


Fog still prevailed over Vladivostok on a regular basis, despite the shift of seasons from winter to late spring near the summer. To Chervona Ukrayna, life went on just about the same. Two major happenings related to him would be… Osmotritelnyy finally relocated to Dalzavod, the nearby shipyard for the impending repair he direly needed. So there was one less Sarych ‘siblings’ to him in the fleet. Another is Slava’s own scheduled maintenance. Before departing Sevastopol back to their home back in Nikolaev, the strict eldest unit gave him the last distance phone call. As opposed to what Chervona Ukrayna feared, his brother mentioned nothing about the task of ‘defeating the Orlan’. Had Minsk intervened and told Slava to stop meddling with the fleet under direct command of the second ‘gyrfalcon’?

Novorossiysk nowadays shadowing Minsk even more closely. No longer the information was kept from the subordinate-level fleet members; their superior would leave for a scheduled check up and repair sometime within this year. It would require a gruelling voyage for their aging flagship to return to his home in the Black Sea region - where it was the only place in the USSR capable of handling such tasks.

Meanwhile, to the deep chagrin of the five Fregat units, their youngest brother’s transition was postponed yet again.

  


“Whew! If Novorossiysk takes over, my life will get better!” 

  


Frantically with fright, the group of small androids in black marine uniform and the ‘red sheep’ in the middle of them scanned around the area to make certain that speech wouldn’t reach the person whose name omitted from it, yet directly referred to.

“Minya! What if Commander Minsk hears you!” A soft hiss originated from the unit who now took over the ‘big brother’ role in the absence of Osmotritelnyy. 

The rest of the black fabric-cladded gang murmured in agreement with Boyevoy. They would rather not risk it…

Only Chervona Ukrayna kept his lips sealed. True, he agreed with what his surrogate brood scared. However, he also sympathised with the Orlan who was becoming tighter to him as a friend. The Sarych bunch didn’t get to see Minsk chewing Frunze when the hardheaded flagship believed their gregarious Orlan harassed the meekest member of the Vladivostok garrison. Minsk could, no doubt, make Minya’s life difficult…

“And… Panteleyev, what about him? Nikolka is restless, I feel terrible for him…” asked the ‘Red Atlant’ in hoping to change the topic.

“The last I heard from Nikolka, they’re putting Panteleyev on sea trials. Unfortunately, you can’t rush these processes. Panteleyev himself can’t hasten them either.” Burnyy nodded at the unit his youngest sibling escorted to the Far East together. “We don’t know what the economic situation is like in Kaliningrad. Consider they got cut off by Lithuania though, it has to be difficult.”

  


Thinking back to his own experience, while SSR Ukraine suffered no such trouble, there was still a severe delay in his own progress. How did he keep his future colleagues hanging? Having to spend over six years to ready combat readiness?

“I.. I’m sorry.” Words slipped out before realizing there was nothing for him to apologize for.

“Don’t think anyone will think you’re nosy or inconsiderate to ask about Panteleyev. In fact, I’m sure the Fregat guys appreciate you being concerned about them, especially to Nikolka.” Frunze slid up to ruffle the red mop of wavy hair.

“No, Minya. I mean… I thought I disappoint everyone here. Not only… I’m weak. I also took too long to be ready.” As soon as he finished those words, Frunze swooped his other hand to lock both on Chervona Ukrayna’s head tightly. Those gray, rain cloud-like eyes stared straight into the third Atlant’s shallow sea ones. Much as he already understood the Orlan considered him a friend, this action still scared him nonetheless.

“How many times do I have to hammer it into you that you’re not weak?” Obviously, the destroyer clan which also originated from the same city as Frunze knew to their core the outgoing Orlan never meant harm their dependent Atlant with his action. Still, they made an intangible noise in a bid to let him realize how this gesture he deemed as ‘playful’ could be perceived in a different light by Chervona Ukrayna. Wasn’t his first trouble that got him summoned and reprimanded by Minsk started the same way, after all? This time, the Orlan heeded to the flock of smaller androids at once.

By the time the ‘Red Atlant’ was freed again, an emotion data ran through his internal system, which he identified as ‘shame’.

Couldn’t be from anything else but how he always needed the Sarych to always rescue him… it had been almost half a year since he took the first step in Vladivostok. How soon did Stasik ‘grow up’ and stood on his own with ease in the Northern Fleet?

  


From above, through the glass panels of windows on the higher floors located in the fleet headquarters building, silhouettes of men also serving in the eastern navy force just like those android units below observed their interactions. How nice… to be androids who had a zero understanding of politics and other troublesome aspects which was silently and slowly killing the USSR. Even so, the situation with Kaliningrad was too obvious. They acknowledged this pressing issue had reached the androids, most precisely because it directly affected the Fregat group.

Yet, what the androids were aware of was only a tiny bit of the actual problem.

They had branded politics and nationalism ‘forbidden’ subjects to androids for good reasons. Hence it bestowed upon the androids an ability to be completely ignorant to the iceberg they only saw one angle of its tip. Perhaps, no… iceberg might not be the accurate metaphor. An ice floe, should be more precise. Ice floe when spring was at horizon to be exact.

What these androids didn’t know… there were so many ‘cracks’ within the USSR they weren’t aware of. 

Their state was in a near death state, and only the humans knew it.

“So to their knowledge, Lithuania is the only problematic region, huh?”

“Even Chervona Ukrayna isn’t aware of… Georgia’s independence declared in April, as far as we can tell,” added another figure within the gathered group. “Neither of Tatarstan… but Tatarstan is understandably since it’s an inland territory. It looks like he doesn’t keep in touch with any other android of the Black Sea Fleet outside of Slava.”

“The report from Novorossiysk, though,” stated someone whose rank was lower than that of the previous individual. His voice carried a tinge of concern.

“Chervona Ukrayna fears for the secession of Far East. He has displayed a sign that he is willing to defect our fleet and turn to whichever side his brothers stay loyal to.” However, the highest rank man quickly dismissed that concern.

“That unit is practically a child regarding his understanding of human society,” hissed the one with the rank of admiral.

Instead, he addressed his prime grave concern.

“Minsk will need his mid-life repair soon. And there is no other option available but sending him back all the way to Nikolaev.” Next, he cautiously pondered, “That will leave us with just Novorossiysk. But the actual problem doesn’t concern our fleet but the Black Sea Fleet. It seems the Ukrainians are being encouraged by the independence claimed by a few parts of our state already.”

“Sir, do you expect…?”

“If Ukraine would declare independence. I’d prefer NOT to have our unit in roster stuck there.” The admiral’s state of mind was obviously in a troubled one.

“I hope Minsk and Novorossiysk are logical and loyal to us enough not to be wavering by the fact that… if Ukraine declares independence, their ‘younger brother’ will be on that side.”

  


And just a little over two weeks later, something happened. Something… they weren’t able to foresee before. 

  


* * *

  


“Block all the TV signal from outside! Put on anything on VHS for the signal to broadcast within the base!!” Hastily the order echoed to every corner within the base with human personnel. They couldn’t let the androids aware of this at all costs. “Also, issue an urgent order to restrict their movement! We will allow no unit to go outside of the base except those already out in the sea for missions… if their missions aren’t of fundamental importance, cancel and recall them to the base!”

Only radio, which only available to human personnel, and at this time not permitted to use, was the only communication line to the happening thousands of kilometers away in Moscow. All the high-ranked members of Vladivostok’s base administration crowded in the fleet commander’s office. The sole radio to be permitted receiving information for the entire base was what gathered them.

“Sir, I have contacted the Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy-50 base to enforce the same protocol.” Reported a man with the rank of counter-admiral. There was no other response from his superior except a quick nod with grimed face.

What would the androids make of this situation?

  


Although the TV channels allowed for androids to watch in order to learn about the state they served and its citizens were already gone through some strict measures to make certain they wouldn’t be exposed to politics and other ‘delicate’ subjects, the human commanders were still wary. This was a crucial situation. If the truth slipped into the conscious of their android units, who could predict what might ensue?

Grimed faces were all around the fleet’s highest commander’s workspace. They picked other locations for chaos and politics movement to materialize, but why… this time it occurred right in the capital?

“Thanks to the Ground Forces for still being sensible enough not use androids in this coup.”

However, the admiral’s voice was nothing but poisoned with sarcasm, noting zero actual gratitude. This coup d’état in Moscow would likely mess with their androids’ conscious. They were all programmed to be ‘loyal’ to Moscow. Except… at this moment there were ‘two’ Moscows - both not the actual city but the different aspirations of politicians.

“Can’t believe it…” again, it was as if the admiral was the only person who did the talking for the rest of the gathered personnel. “Alpha, Vympel… how will this end? I can’t imagine they would mobilize these special forces against our own president’s power. Those darn KGBs...”

His tired eyes slid across the glossy, well-maintenance surface of his desk. A tabletop calendar held no significance for most days in the year. No difference for how his thought of August 19, 1991 was until mere hours ago.

  


  


“Is there some kind of emergency?”

  


Amidst the horde of androids lounging lazily with bore inside the foyer of their dormitory building designated as the recreation area, someone uttered that question. Yet, no one had an idea to the answer. Most units sat and chatted aimlessly, a number preferred for the companionship of books. Some tried their luck on television, only to find old movies running on most channels their electronics could receive.

“Does Commander know anything about this?” Silence.

Perhaps Minsk was aware of something, but who would be the brave soul that would go up to the two ‘gyrfalcon’ brothers’ room and inquire?

Several pairs of eyes directed to the figure dominating by the color red, who like usual, surrounded by the ‘buzzards’ flock playing dominoes together quietly in the corner.

  


“Something big is certainly happening out there…” remarked Novorossiysk four storeys above most androids, who stood peeking through the tiny opening of window blind he ‘cracked’ with fingers to allow slightly wider view. His eyes looked over to the west.

Suddenly this ‘lock in’ order came near noon. It made little sense.

“Who knows what the fuck humans are doing out there in Europe again? If it’s not concerned with our home, blast it, it’s not worthy of attention.” His snippy tone said otherwise though, he was to a degree irritated by this lack of information. Even with his status as flagship didn’t earn him such privilege this time.

The younger unit of 1143 project hummed, “Our home, eh? Yeah, the Black Sea Fleet won’t allow what happened in Lithuania to happen to our home. The base in Lithuanian territory was too powerless, unlike Sevastopol.”

  


For the next three days, the androids passed days in the same locked in condition without a knowledge of the actual reason behind the order. Those returned from the sea offered no coherent detail enough to construct the bigger picture. Due to the hardship with fleet funding, several units decided to ‘sleep’ so time would pass without wasting their fuel to stay up. Those who chose to stay awake, faced with immense boredom and curiosity which could never be sated.

To the commanding of the fleet’s relief. The coup was a failure, no change to the seat of power in Moscow.

  


The genuine threat, though, materialized a couple of days afterward…

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****** The political event mentioned in the latter part of this chapter is - <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1991_Soviet_coup_d%27%C3%A9tat_attempt>


	21. Hometown, No More

  


“Let me go!!! I can’t stay here!!”

  


That was Chervona Ukrayna’s scream at all his might. Flanking his forcefully wiggling frame to break free were both the Orlan and the third unit of project 1143. Totally overpowered, they dragged him against his will, up the stairs to the fourth floor, right according to Minsk’s command. This commotion gained much attention from the android troops, for seeing the so-called ‘favorite’ of their flagship being treated harshly for the first time.

Despite the fact that they were usually his ‘defenders’, all the active units of the destroyer type wearing black marine uniform didn’t move a finger against what was happening to their adoptive ‘big little brother’. Unfortunately, this was a rare time when they saw the harsh treatment to Chervona Ukrayna justified.

  


Ukraine had just declared independence from the USSR. And Slava… there was no contact from Slava.

  


The last they knew, including to the knowledge possessed by the youngest brother of the android who represented the USSR in 1989 Malta Summit, was the Slava returned to Nikolaev in late March.

By this day, no one laughed at the Atlant newbie’s fear anymore. Right before their eyes, they witnessed that very thing the unit some of them half affectionately, half jokingly called ‘tomato’ being neurotic of since his first day in Vladivostok struck him directly. Being torn from siblings stationed in different parts of the country was a highly real possibility. And their Atlant’s suffering was illustrating the effect of that dreadful occurrence.

At the same time though, they couldn’t help… but also worried for their own leader.

Minsk’s supposed repair which was to carry out at his home shipyard in Nikolaev… unless their human commanders could come to some kind of agreement with… the new state taking control that city, it would be too risky to send him back there. But that would mean…

Minsk’s existence might not be lasting as long as initially meant to be. And what would happen if that came true?

  


  


From the noisy ruckus slowly ascending through staircases, it ended with the smallest among the three being thrown into the same room where two days ago Novorossiysk stood wondering what had become of the state they served. Bed creaked aloud as a weight of roughly 900 kilograms being forced onto it all of a sudden and with unusual violent energy. The unit with signature blue cape, wearing an expression of conflicted, soon bounced his momentum back where he came in, instructing his comrade for the plan they needed to come up for without foreseeing it before.

“Novorossiysk! You stay in here and try to persuade him! I’ll watch the outside!!”

Second later, the door banged as it slammed shut. One of the two room owners moved to block the door as a precaution. He knew this disturbed unit in red kosovorotka probably trusted him the most among the three other cruiser units. Still, he had to admit at this moment he wasn’t sure if that was still true.

“Don’t get me wrong, Chervona U-“ the light brown-haired unit hastily halted calling out that name. Ukrayna… now that name denoted something different from before.

“Even though you may not see it that way. This is for your own sake… and the best interest of our fleet.”

Staggering and clumsily, the figure in the red uniform shirt gradually regained his control. When those blue-gray eyes whipped his way again, the Pacific Fleet secretary could identify so many hints in them. Fear. Confusion. And surprisingly, a trace of aggression.

  


“Why…” at first it was a low, hardly audible voice. Then it boomed to a full-blown bellow.

  


“Why?! How could you… at a time like this! We’re losing our hometown! And you chose this ‘foreign’ land?!”

Keeping his composure calm, pressing down all of his own apprehensions, Novorossiysk braced for more outbursts he’d have to endure. Anything he could do to discourage the fiery ‘Red Atlant’ from deserting Vladivostok. “You are unsettling by what might happen to Slava. That’s totally understandable. But let me remind you that at this moment, the Northern Fleet is still on the same side as us. Ustinov IS ON YOUR SIDE STILL.”

Chervona Ukrayna couldn’t quit his gaze at the taller unit from the same hometown. True, the situation was more complicated than he comprehended. In his inorganic brain, he only had a plan of what to do if the Far East seceded. That was, to run away. Returning to Sevastopol as soon as possible, and siding with Slava.

He never anticipated the region his eldest brother’s fleet based on would be the one seceding.

“There is more to this than what we know, believe me, Rostislav.” Decidedly, the unit in white naval officer uniform switched to use the human name each of the ‘Slavas’ choose for themselves. “Humans are trying hard to exclude us from understanding their political aspect. They even implanted a system in our brain to nullify the capability to process once we get in touch with words related to it too often.”

As if to challenge the older fellow Nikolaev-born, the third member of project 1164 instantly concentrated to rummage through the databank inside his inorganic brain. There had to be something explained this ‘independence’ process. What could have caused? What would be the way to work around and prevent??

His search came up blank.

Or more precisely, something blocked his attempt from succeeding in the quest he intended. Like he ran into an invisible wall within his own inorganic brain.

“It’s futile. Not even Minsk nor I ever succeeded. I doubt Minya will either…”

Novorossiysk then closed in on the unit he unofficially ‘played’ the babysitter role to. Placing both of his gentle hands on those stiff shouldered hidden under the red fabric, he again pacified the spooked newest cruiser unit to join their fleet.

“Trust in US, the Pacific Fleet, Roska. We’ll try to consider your best interest. Avoiding conflict with… that newly emerged country will be our priority.”

Chervona Ukrayna was slow to respond. It was as if he was in a daze; too many thoughts he tried to process, overloading his inorganic brain at once. Eventually, he managed to utter, “We can’t go back home now, right?”

The ‘we’ here indicated their common suffering.

  


All three of them - Minsk, Novorossiysk and Chervona Ukrayna.

  


* * *

  


After over 12 hours, the weary flagship of the Soviet’s eastern fleet climbed back up to the room he shared with his brother, now acting like a temporary prison for the youngest of the Nikolaev-born trio. Frunze was also staying put, guarding the door, though the arguing inside had died down for several hours. His gray eyes glanced at the approaching sturdy frame, “How do you handle it, Commander? I understand this is a big deal…”

Imagine his inability to choose a proper response when the first thing Minsk said in reply was, “Thank you, Minya.”

And then it went back to the usual barking order stance. “Go in and swap with Novorossiysk. I need him outside.” Talked about jerking his chain back and forth… the Orlan made a grumpy face in return then open the door.

“You heard him, right? Man, his voice when issuing an order is always disproportionately loud…” That was some close-range firing right there…

Lucky for the sole ‘nuclear eater’, Minsk wasn’t in the mood to bite the bait. 

The unit summoned by the flagship squeezed his frame through the black-haired unit who stood partially obscuring the doorway just in case their ‘Roska’ decided to take a chance and run. Possibly the sight of Minsk waiting outside, likely more than ready to stop him, was the deal breaker which convinced the ‘Red Atlant’ not to follow that initiate. Frunze walked in after the door was closed behind him, then moved to sit on a bed he didn’t really care whether it belonged to the gentler ‘gyrfalcon’ or the fierce older unit who always wanted to bite his head.

“Hey, feel better now, Roska?” Hand under white glove patted his friend who was the center of attention once again hours ago.

The unit with wavy ruby-colored hair maintained his silence.

“Don’t go mute on me like Kirov, Roska. Are you still angry at me for teaming up with Novorossiysk to force you into this room?”

Frunze’s chatty persuasion could be heard from the hallway outside. Standing facing one another, the older ‘gyrfalcon’ gestured his brother in for a secret communication. He didn’t want both Frunze and Chervona Ukrayna to eavesdrop on what he had in mind.

  


“Go down to the telephone,” whispered Minsk. “Call the Northern Fleet. Ask for Ustinov.”

  


“I’ll stay here in the front in place of you. I don’t trust Minya not to fuck up with this sensitive kid. He did once, he can always mess up again.” Novorossiysk rolled his blue-green eyes at the second unit of the same project. It must be hard to be Frunze, always under fault-finding eyes of his brother. “They wouldn’t know it’s you who depart. Our weight is the same - just copy my footsteps.”

Quick nod and the third project 1143 unit went down the stairs.

So much for the meticulous plan from Minsk. Just when Novorossiysk started his descent from the third floor to the second, he heard the door opened.

“Hey, Novorossiysk. Mind comin\- OH CRAP!!!”

Maybe Minsk was right. Minya indeed betrayed their expectations… sometimes. Now let’s hope Minsk wouldn’t dismember their only Orlan for swearing to such proximity right in his face.

  


  


Certainly he anticipated curiosity from fellow fleet members. When he finally got down to the ground level foyer, fewer figures were still roaming around than there was during the day. Nowadays androids going to sleep to conserve fuel was nothing unusual anymore. The arms on the clock told it was 11 PM, close to midnight… which translated to 6 PM, give or take in Murmansk.

Picking up the handset, he was relieved to find the human commanders hadn’t decided to deprive them of this window of communication yet. What a chaotic week they had… so many uncertainties in the air. Who could ever guess when humans would decide this would no longer be permitted, too?

“Good evening. This is Novorossiysk from Pacific Fleet, could I speak to… Kiev? Ho-“

“Yes, Baku- I mean Gorshkov is fine. Please and thank you.” Then he waited… for the younger brother he mostly only knew by name. The fourth ‘gyrfalcon’ commissioned five years after him. He had long settled down on the Pacific when Baku, now Admiral Flota Sovetskogo Soyuza Gorshkov, awakened.

An unfamiliar voice at last came through from Severomorsk, “Hello, Gorshkov here.”

“Hello… Gorshkov. I realize I’m practically a stranger here but… are you okay with…?”

“Yeah, though it’s difficult to process,” admitted the fourth. “Unfortunately Kiev is in a shipyard, hopeful to have him repair commenced soon. While I don’t see him, I can imagine his frustration for…”

  


His name, of course.

  


“True, we have someone here with similar trouble. Ustinov’s younger brother, if you know him…” He didn’t want to sound like he didn’t care much for his own younger sibling, but an order was an order. “Minsk ordered me to contact Ustinov. Earlier today, Chervona Ukrayna attempted to desert our fleet to go back to Sevastopol.”

From the other end in the northwest, Novorossiysk could hear a sound which expressed astonishment.

“We thwarted his attempt before it went far, the commanding level hasn’t been aware of it as far as I know. He’s locked up in our dorm now, Frunze and Minsk are watching him.”

More intangible sound without actual meaning but affirmed the other side acknowledged the situation. “So you try to get Stasik to calm his little bro down? Unfortunately, Stasik is still out in the sea. Last month he visited the US. He’s probably somewhere around North Sea or Norwegian coast right now. And who knows whether he’s aware of what happened at home yet.”

Shoot, could anything go anymore wrong? Kiev was inactive, and Ustinov wasn’t there.

“If his condition isn’t too much in an awful shape when he returns, please tell him to contact his brother. Ustinov is the only one left now. We… lost Slava. In terms of contact, that is.”

“Talk about Minsk…” Gorshkov’s voice was quiet, “He… couldn’t be much better than Kiev, right? In a term of aging components and equipment…”

The third unit spent a quick second thinking back to the second’s condition. Then, unseen from Gorshkov’s end, shook his head, half amused, half despair. Minsk… you pretentious asshat. If he wasn’t the one roomed with the flagship of Pacific Fleet, he would have missed several clues that only slipped out of public eyes.

“He’s doing well. Still chewing our Orlan’s head to the fullest.” 

“You know about…” Gorshkov was cautious. “Kirov is being deactivated, right?”

He didn’t. And was very much surprised to hear it. “Why?? I thought Kiev’s repair is postponed because of the trouble back home, but Kirov shouldn’t have any trouble to get his timely maintenance?”

“There’s a rumor that there is something wrong with his reactor. The humans are being cautious. And since he’s the first surface ship type using that kind of fuel… it’s complicated.” Then followed by a warning. “Watch your own unit. Let’s hope it’s not some inherited design flaw like what the Sarych bunch are experiencing.”

  


  


Four storeys above, Minsk was now ‘stationed’ in his own living quarters, facing and scrutinizing the two cruiser units who didn’t work extensively in cooperation with aircraft androids. Frunze was sheepish, getting his share of yelling earlier. For Chervona Ukrayna, though… Minsk threaded extremely carefully around him. The situation nowadays was anything but predictable. For both of them.

On this day, funnily, their meek ‘Red Atlant’ no longer shook in the flagship’s presence. But he still avoided him. This time by gazing out of the window, watching the panorama of the eastern maritime city, which grew dimmer in number of lightings in buildings. Just like the economy forecast they lived in.

“Novorossiysk takes really long for a phone,” remarked the Orlan, who already knew very well of Kirov’s fate.

Those eyes of blue-gray mixture didn’t sway Frunze’s way.

“We might want to remember that… just because one part of our state declared itself to be another country doesn’t necessarilymean they will immediately turn hostile to. Look at Lithuania, as much as we’re wary of them regarding Kaliningrad - nothing happens so far.” With a stern manner, while it might not sound like it, that was the grouchy androids commander’s way of trying to console his confused subordinate from the same hometown.

Even though he was the oldest combatant, that was about as much as Minsk could estimate. Being in the ‘outside world’ for almost twenty years hadn’t improved his understanding of humans’ politics much more than an ordinary newly deployed unit could comprehend.

“Don’t expect the worst too soon, Roska. There may be a way for us to get Slava back. Or at least, a way to establish contact with him.”

“Sorry to butt in and add another topic, Boss. But have you tried to… contact the Black Sea Fleet yet?” Instantly Minsk’s evil eyes zeroed on Frunze. Because he knew the answer would likely make their ‘Roska’ fall deeper into despair.

He did try, as soon as he became aware of the news. There must be a degree of chaos in Sevastopol, for the phone communication was cut, and he spent several futile attempts to establish contact with android colleagues in that fleet. He had a faith somebody there must be a way to contact Slava - didn’t matter if it was an android or a human who held that key.

“Shut up before I pound you through the door!!!” Without warning, Minsk’s temper rose again.

Chervona Ukrayna who sat by the window instinctively recoiled from that connecting open to the outside world as the glass panel quaked, undoubtedly from the explosive intensity of his superior’s sudden outburst. The same effect could be observed from the wooden door where the owner of the unique blue cape stood close to. Frunze was… both terrified and fascinating at the same time. How many other androids could hear it outside, anyway? The entire floor? Or the floors both above and below weren’t spared either?

But more importantly, the actual question was… where was Novorossiysk when he was needed?!

  


* * *

  


“Still, nothing gets through on TV?”

  


The fleet secretary stood in front of the TV in the recreation area. A few other figures, included Bystryy, crowded around it hoping to get some glimpse of what was going on on the other side of the state. 

“Nope, just rotations of movies over and over.” Despondency was in the voice which answered.

It was only by chance the androids learned about the declaration of Ukraine’s independence. Ever since nearly a week ago, on August 19th, they had been on a ‘locked down’ order to stay inside the dormitory. The sole TV accessible to them had been broadcasting compilation of old soviet movies since, and there was no radio available to them. Their awareness of the situation unfolded at the home region of the project 1143 and 1164 had come from their returning colleagues who were out for a long distance mission. As they closed in to home base, passing district which land formed into small coves and capes, they caught the announcement of news from the city’s broadcasting system.

Played it fool to the human commanders’ eyes by the time they reached the land. Once those were back within the dorm, panic spread like wildfire. Eventually Chervona Ukrayna and the two ‘gyrfalcons’ caught wind of it.

Alas, Bystryy could no longer suppress his curiosity and worry. “May I ask how he is doing? I mean… our Roska.”

“He’s calmed down, although I can’t be certain whether he just pretend so to deceive us. If he has indeed realized his rash idea wasn’t for the best, then that’s our benefit. Ustinov should contact him as soon as he reached Severomorsk.” Right there it was clear to the gathering bunch where Novorossiysk made a phone call to.

As the unit who went to Sevastopol to escort Chervona Ukrayna directly from Sevastopol, the latest Sarych who arrived together with the troubled Atlant knew there was more to it than his friend just concerning about that highly dignified eldest brother in black kosovorotka. Then he also thought back to those who welcomed him during his three days stay at the headquarters of the Black Sea Fleet.

“You know… it wasn’t just Slava who stuck in the 61 Kommuanara…” the Sarych with messy, windswept brown hair whispered.

“There’s… also his only younger brother in that place. Probably already awakened, I don’t know.” Listening to the escort’s concerning voice, the much taller, light brown-haired unit nodded.

“I’ll go back to check him now. Report any progress at my and Minsk’s room.”

Hence a dozen and a half or so units who still lingered at the recreation area on the ground floor watched the fleet secretary went up flights of stairs, heading back to the fourth floor. Slowly, amidst their own, soft discussion emerged.

“He doesn’t have time to worry about his own issue owing to Chervona Ukrayna’s tantrum, see?”

“You think Zvezdara can accommodate Commander’s repair? He couldn’t go back to Nikolaev now… and his strong will only goes as far as his body cooperates” Somebody mentioned the major shipyard near Vladivostok, where nuclear-powered submarine units received their proper maintenance, including K-223 who had been in the facility since 1985. “As much as his constant yelling scares the heck out of me sometimes… I can’t imagine not having him with us.”

“As if already losing a few of us too soon isn’t yet bad enough,” grunted a unit who entered the fleet in mid-80s. “Definitely not look forward to when Commander Minsk won’t be here, but if Zvezdara can't step in, I guess… he...”

Eyes lifted upward, to the body in a white uniform not visible to them any longer.

  


“...will have to lead us out of this dismal period.”

  


* * *

  


Later, on August 26th, telephone in the foyer where androids gathered for recreation rang. This time, it was the call Chervona Ukrayna had been waiting for from the closed city where the Northern Fleet’s HQ located.

“Don’t be too reckless, Roska. Slava is, without a doubt, most important to us - but don’t just desert your fleetmates. Don’t tell me after over a half year there you haven’t grown attached to anyone.” Pleads could be heard from the extreme northwest point of the USSR. As much as Ustinov himself was crestfallen to learn of the independence of an unfamiliar country encompassing his hometown and the peninsula home to the Black Sea Fleet in it, the realization of how his only younger brother was even more unnerving by it instilled him protective sense.

“I know this is difficult for you, who barely left ‘home’ less than a year,” continued the ‘White Atlant’, although ‘home’ he meant here was not Nikolaev but Sevastopol… Ukrainian territory as a whole.

No responses from the ‘Red Atlant’ as he urgently needed some faith to prevent him from fleeing this part of the USSR. If he couldn’t return to Sevastopol, maybe… going to Severomorsk to be with Stasik wasn’t a complete terrible choice. As if somehow the second unit of project 1164 could sense his younger brother’s unwise strategy, he quickly added.

“If I was in your position, yes, I would attempt to reach Slava, too. But know what keeps me from darting back like a senseless?”

The tone in Ustinov’s voice lifted up, “It’s these other units in the same fleet I made friends with. Actually, I expect Slava to slap me for… actually making friends with an Orlan unit, you know, against what he wants us to do. But not only Kalinin, the submarines also… Ho? You don’t stay where the majority of the nuclear-powered subs in your fleet are? Well, you’ll get to meet some eventually, I’m sure”

A reluctant sound of no particular meaning echoed through Ustinov’s handset as a response. Chervona Ukrayna wasn’t too convinced in his ability to befriend others, unlike a total social butterfly Stasik was.

“Well, admit I didn’t expect some people to make fun of your red hair, but come on. There are those friendly folks who don’t, isn’t it?” Increasing his attempt to persuade the meeker brother, Stasik gave him some advice. “But even the guys who initially weren’t so nice to you can change, understand? They can change their mind as time passes. One day they will realize their mistake of not grabbing a chance to be your friend. In the meantime, though, keep hanging with those who accept you!”

Six hours away eastward, Chervona Ukrayna submitted to his surviving brother’s reasoning. But not without a doubt of his own.

“If you say so, Stasik. However… are you sure… neither of our fleets will…? You’re the only one I have left, I don’t want to face you or your fleet in battle for whatever reason humans suddenly want this ‘independence’ thing!!”

“Yes, I’m sure,” his words full of confidence, but only because he knew that was what his powerless Roska wanted to hear. “There is NO WAY a Hero City like Murmansk will betray our country. And Vladivostok has their own pride not to do that as well. We’ll stay together on the same side!”

  


The call didn’t last very long, but it was enough to refill the third Atlant with the will to withstand this turbulent period. Yet his initial goal was the same - if the Far East seceded, he’d be on the run before the humans here could rope him into doing something against his wish.

  


He only hopes those he ‘grew attached to’, as Ustinov suggested, would think the same thing.

  


“You look better now, or at least… calmer if I should say?” There were few units who would communicate with him in such non-judgemental, friendly tone. Turning around those blue-gray eyes under ruby-colored brows landed on the rare aircraft android who usually seen mingled with them daily, Kosek.

“Commander told me to check on you,” explained the small statue of merely 165 centimeters height. “The human commanders finally confront the situation. Both he and Novorossiysk are in a meeting with them right now.”

His first response was a shy nod. Then, he remembered what his older brother just told him - grow attachment to more colleagues, so they could be the reason to help him through this terrible time. 

Thus to Kosek’s surprise, Chervona Ukrayna muttered, although preserved his timidity but the gratitude clearly transpired, “Thank you.”

For so long he was so self-absorbed. For months he had forgotten the Ka-27 android was the first to fly out to the sea near the entrance of Golden Horn Bay to greet and welcome him and Bystryy. If there was anyone who showed him the first friendly gesture… even though partially it was him completing an order… it was Kosek.

It was as if positive memories flooded back to him once he lifted that ‘blind’ he had over his sight. Kosek aside, there were a few other amiable faces his system selfishly discarded into the side within his inorganic brain he refused to touch when the unwelcome news broke to him. Fokin, his experienced roommate who patiently waited for him to open up. The Fregat brood, although he didn’t get to socialize with them often especially after the difficulty befell their future youngest sibling, he couldn’t remember they participated in the mocking and taunting. Also, he should owe Osmotritelnyy to stay in Vladivostok until the eldest eastern Sarych return from his repair.

“Stasik said I should have faith that Slava will return to us once he understands the situation. Right now, he’s... likely not making contact because his system was deactivated.”

Kosek hide his concern; for androids like them, such state left them most vulnerable.

About fifteen years ago at this exact region, someone deactivated a MiG-25 unit then smuggled the ‘unconscious’ android to Japan. A colleague on the Kamchatka Peninsula was still fuming about it. But most likely Chervona Ukrayna wasn’t aware of that specific incident.

“I hope that day will arrive soon. Us androids shouldn’t be caught up in humans’ affair…” Still, the lone aircraft android knew it was difficult.

“Until something truly terrible happens, I’ll stay put here I guess…” confessed the ‘Red Atlant’, even though the tone of his voice when he made that promise still carried a sense of uncertainty in it. Agreeing, the unit originated the closest to the capital nodded rapidly. Even his own direct superior thought the same… but he couldn’t tell this young, recent reinforcement yet. Humans could view it as an act of rebelling if they weren’t careful…

“Please do,” affirmed the smaller unit who barely weighed slightly over 100 kilograms. ‘Stay here means you don’t decided to turn us your enemies. We don’t wish to have to go against you. And if the situation permitted, for the worst, we might… assist you in trying to rescue Slava from there.”

But so much he truly hoped that wouldn’t materialize.

  


  


The androids of the Pacific Fleet hung on together, even though a few of them suffered a massive blow by the independence of Ukraine. Unanswered questions festered into their system, unable to analyze the cause or what was the most appropriate resolution to handle it. They expected that their fleet would stay loyal to Moscow as long as their state existed, even if the USSR might be weakened to some degree by the loss of Ukraine. They all were programmed to serve Moscow, they saw no other possibility…

Ustinov kept his words and often contacted his faraway younger sibling to ‘heal’ each other from the wound of losing Slava. Though, they never gave up hope that they wouldn’t face him again as opponent…

Anew situation emerged and rustled the plan European-born units non verbally agreed to follow.

  


December 1991, the USSR official ceased its existence from the face of the earth.

  


Both the Northern and Pacific fleets together found themselves under the jurisdiction of Russia - the largest and legal successor of the USSR. To the Fregat brood’s fortune, Russia still possessed territorial claim over Kaliningrad. Yet several issues were still in question. Included whether the Far East would stick with the new state loyally, or would they also…?

Unbeknownst to the androids. Being passed over to a newly emerged state wasn’t the worst they could face yet.

  


* * *


	22. Situation, Decision

  


So much had happened since the last time the Fregat clan welcomed a new member. And it was very difficult to believe...all of them took place in just a span of two years.

But one positive aspect which soothed their restlessness was how their hometowns were still on the same side, were part of the same state as the land they stood on, thousands of kilometers away eastward.

Except... for how long?

  


By now, at least to the Fregat bunch, they didn’t view the Red Atlant’s mistrust toward the future as foolish any more. For the past year had proven it was very real. And Chervona Ukrayna himself was hit hard... even if it turned out the secession didn’t materialize in the Far East as he initially feared. Instead, it hit far closer…

And that called for the Kaliningrad natives of the project 1155 to look back westward, hoping for the safety for their hometown and... the youngest sibling who still stuck there. This was the fate they inevitably shared with the third Atlant. The similar worry that made these smaller androids in a white uniform shirt with black tie ‘felt’ an unseen tie with the cruiser often deemed as ‘weak’ within their fleet.

...If Kaliningrad, by now cut off due to the mass of land incorporated into independent Lithuanian state, was to be change hand to either Lithuania or Poland…

...then what would become of their youngest, Admiral Panteleyev?

  


There were a curious series of repeated delays on Panteleyev’s transferring order. Partially, the older siblings could make a guess that it had to do with the stagnant economy which had been pummeling the state for a decade.

Despite the difficulty they were facing, the five of them looked forward to the day their number would increase to six.

  


  


1992 started with even more loss for the eastern fleet. But this time, fate could end differently… for once.

A few days before the ‘president’ resigned and caused the dominoes of collapsing ‘Iron Curtain’ to complete by losing its last pillar, the project 1143 brothers received pleasant news on their end.

  


**_“Kuznetsov escaped!?”_**

  


The phone call from Gorshkov in Severomorsk brought Novorossiysk a speckle of light into their collective worsening existence for once. Granted Kuznetsov might not be… ‘their direct sibling’ as his project assignment shifted to 1143.5, nevertheless all project 1143 units considered him part of their family. “And what about… what’s his name now. Riga? Varyag??”

However, the response from Murmansk brought the third unit disappointment.

“No, Varyag isn’t coming,” a sense of doomed could be clearly detected from Gorshkov’s voice. “He’s not in the level of readiness to take the sea yet. Let alone crossing the entire North Atlantic to Severomorsk.”

It must be a truly emergency situation, to get Kuznetsov out of the Ukranian territory before the USSR ceased the last of its power altogether. As such, it made sense not to even inquired about Slava. Handset was clenched in a painfully overpowering grip of the android in white officer uniform and light brown hair. Don’t tell him that… it was time to finally give up on the hopes regarding the first Atlant.

Concealing his negative thoughts with his utmost might, Novorossiysk kept the topic from straying off their family issue.

“Not in the readiness. But like, he had awakened already… or not?” Between tackling the ongoing discord between Shaposhnikov and Tributs, trying to intervene the aggression of Minsk over Frunze and keeping his eyes on Chervona Ukrayna, that left little time for the secretary of Pacific Fleet to follow the milestone of his other ‘cousin’ - the second 1143.5 rumored to deploy to his fleet… had the USSR still existed. He wasn’t sure if he recorded data correctly or due to the who-know-how-many-hand-it-passed-through update he received, being faraway at the tip of the USSR’s southeast, he unwittingly misidentified Kuznetsov’s milestone for Varyag’s.

“That… shouldn’t you better ask the Atlant in your fleet?” It was obvious Gorshkov reluctant to get into this disheartening topic more than already gone through.

Asking Chervona Ukrayna? True… he might be the LAST of their side to actually saw what happened at the Black Sea Shipyard where all the 1143 and extended project originated. But with Slava disappeared and the negative effects he saw on him from Ukraine’s independence convinced it wouldn’t be a wise choice.

“No, thanks then. Guess my curiosity can wait.”

The irritation in Novorossiysk’s voice, though unreasonable to unleash on his younger brother, was still evident enough.

“Look, it’s not like I’m being a jerk toward that guy. Of course I don’t know his issues. It’s Ustinov himself who said Chervona Ukrayna must have seen them when he left our hometown one last time before heading to Sevastopol. Unless you can somehow get in touch with Slava.”

Realizing it was unfair to take it out on Gorshkov IF it was indeed Ustinov who suggested, the older unit backed down and apologized, “My bad… if Ustinov was the one who mentioned it. But… he really should take his brother’s mental condition into consideration.” To which he received a nonchalant sound from the other end to indicate the fourth 1143 unit didn’t take it as his problem.

  


Later on the discussion moved into Minsk’s office. 

“He’s already in Murmansk, is it so?” The clearly aging flagship of the Pacific Fleet could then leave his concern behind. If he reached the stronghold of the Northern Fleet, then Kuznetsov’s fate was secured.

“But with only Gorshkov active there… well, I don’t doubt his willingness to demonstrate the older brother role. Should we… find some way to help, in case Gorshkov needs to leave on a mission?” Novorossiysk imagined it would be hard for Kuznetsov to be alone in the Arctic land where it was so much different from the hometown he stayed until early last month.

While the second ‘gyrfalcon’ agreed to the third’s initiative, he saw no possibility of what help they could offer except words through long-distance telephone.

“My own fate is pretty much hopeless. This crumbling frame restricts me from going out to the sea anymore. I can only cover desk job right now.” Grudgingly the android with highest authority over his ‘kind’ vented about his fate. The fate he didn’t see it coming. The retirement that reached him prematurely; brought by the cancelation of the scheduled mid-life repair that would take him home and meet both Kuznetsov and Varyag.

Although Novorossiysk himself spent some time for an average repair before the arrival of the last ‘Nikolaev-born’ unit, it merely prolonged his condition a little longer. He wasn’t in the same shoe as Minsk… for now. Hence he foresaw the same trouble prohibiting sea-going task and settling him to a desk job in the future.

“It’s probably only a matter of time before I follow your pattern,” resignation clung deeply to the secretary’s words.

Without hesitation, the unit with darker brown hair quipped, “Don’t try to steal my job so soon, damn you.”

“You really didn’t catch my drift, did you?” retaliated the one with light brown shade on his head. But all too soon he gave up. This wasn’t a time for them to bicker over their ‘old’ issue. “I was thinking about Kosek.”

  


Well, yeah. With their capability to carry out sea-going missions fading, their tiny Ka-27 subordinate nowadays took the task of near-coast patrol instead of tagging along with them to do his proper job - submarines hunting. Despite often seen running errands for Minsk mostly, Kosek’s actual superior was Novorossiysk.

“Are you suggesting…?” Ultimately it would be Novorossiysk’s call, even the flagship rank didn’t grant Minsk power to choose a future for the Ka-27.

“We may need to talk to him first, but I see no point that he would refuse it. He’ll be in Severomorsk and I, here in Vladivostok. We can always keep in touch.” He also thought sending his trusted subordinate there would help Kuznetsov in more than one way. Kosek was in Severomorsk once when they were temporarily in the Northern Fleet before transition. The Ka-27 unit might know some of the current active members there from that time and helped ease Kuznetsov’s burden of suddenly found himself in a ‘foreign’ territory.

Another, would be helping the newest carrier type unit to understand combat strategies. He completed a few patrols with Novorossiysk in the immediate aftermath of the tension in mid-80s after all.

“Sure, if you think that’ll be better for him.” Though reluctantly, the partially crippled flagship agreed. His hand reached for the telephone handset on his desk, dialling the number to internal communication division. “This is Minsk. Give an announcement call for Ka-27 unit Kuzma to report to flagship’s office immediately.”

  


  


Bit by bit the news of Kuznetsov’s ‘rescue’ spread among the androids. No one knew the newest addition from Nikolaev as intimately as their ‘Red Atlant’. Yet he still confessed they only exchanged brief greetings when he went out and returned to the 61 Kommunara Shipyard during his first sea trials.

“If my ‘home’ w-weren’t a few kilometers upstream f-from Commander and Novorossiysk’s home, I-I would n-never have seen him.”

Still, not everyone was satisfied by that vague elaboration.

“A friend?!” “No way! I don’t think he-“ “I told you. W-We only say hi to each other and, and he sometime… try to chat with me a bit. That’s all! Really!!!”

After a series of questions, they finally left Chervona Ukrayna alone when the crowd understood he barely knew Kuznetsov. With his head low, the frame cladded in the brightest uniform shirt in their entire fleet took the stairs. Climbing back up to the third floor where his room located, he expected staying there with his roommate would be less suffocating.

  


“Hey, how’s it going?”

  


From his bed where the shorter stature laid on, lazily gazing at the scene of Vladivostok cityscape from the single window, Admiral Fokin welcomed his young roommate back.

“Got interrogated by the guys, huh? Those bunches driven by curiosity can be vicious.”

The head full of red hair only nodded. If he was human, he might give the older roommate a long, loud sigh.

“Um… I think I heard it from either Stoykiy or Burnyy. You had… a brother named Varyag?”

To say that particular question triggered an avalanche of intrigue on the more advance-aged cruiser wouldn’t be far from the truth. What drew this inexperienced unit’s attention to the sibling who predeceased him?

“Yes. Can I ask, what is it about him that interests you?”

In anticipation, Fokin shifted his posture on the bed from facing toward the window to fully turned Chervona Ukrayna’s way, preparing to take their sudden conversation in length.

“You know, the news about… Kuznetsov. I just found out the other unit… Kuznetsov’s younger brother, changed his name to Varyag.”

“Ho?” That was a piece of information Fokin didn’t see coming. True, it was a custom not to have more than one active unit using the same name… and name inheritance was nothing unusual. “And I was wondering where that name goes to… in a term of reassigning, you know. Never thought it’d go to someone close to you.”

“Close?” Again the latest commissioned unit from project 1164 shook his head with vigor, as if the stronger his motion was, the faster he could disperse misunderstanding. “Hardly. Like I told them downstairs - only exchanged greetings didn’t make us friends.”

“Well, we never know what the future may hold.” Well, the present they were going through wasn’t the future they expected a couple of years ago either. Fokin calculated the likelihood using the situation the navy was in.

“Kuznetsov to the Northern Fleet, provided Kiev would make a comeback some day after repair. That’ll make it three carrier units in Murmansk. You see the pattern here?”

He did, but Chervona Ukrayna only made an intangible sound to reply.

“If somehow… our government can negotiate to retrieve that guy from Ukraine. I think he’ll likely come here.” Added the more seasoned member of the Pacific Fleet, a small smiling baring the excitement for his roommate. “You might not have a chance to befriend him there. Then, just do it here?”

That, he could see happening. The making friend part, that was. From what he made aware of regarding Kuznetsov’s incident… the chance might not come easy enough…

And then, the security of the Far East within Russia’s hand was still questionable.

Yet he wasn’t about to voice this to Fokin. He was certain his roommate was already sick of the topic, having endured a constant earful of his moaning ever since the first day the red-haired Atlant opened up to the cruiser who shared hometown with the Sarych clan, Frunze and Tributs.

“I’m sure he was called Riga back then… when we briefly saw each other in the Southern Bug River,” slowly and quietly, the last android to leave Nikolaev when the ‘crack’ was still invisible added more puzzle pieces to complete the picture. Fokin sat upright on his bed, noting his roommate’s expression. He himself didn’t have much time left either. After the retirement of his brother who previously held the name ‘Varyag’ it was only inevitable.

To Fokin, his only regret was the ‘Varyag’ who was his brother didn’t stay long enough to get into a friendly interaction with this new cruiser roommate of his. Varyag was pulled off this fleet in April 1990. Chervona Ukrayna only arrived almost eight months later.

“Let me say something, Roska,” those close to the third Atlant began to switch and proficiently address him using his human name. The official name he bore… was still a thorn to him, despite there was no clear signal of hostility from the newly established independent Ukraine state. His stagnant movement, not so easy to move around with perfectly functioning joints any longer, brought Fokin’s hand to his much younger roommate’s shoulder. There was no longer a flinch. Roska had fully opened up to his roommate after a year. “They, I mean the Russians, may decide to change your name one day. You see the possibility now, right?”

No doubt Roska was aware of it. Two of his siblings went through it - Ustinov from Admiral Lobov and now… Lobov, the fourth Atlant, who used to carry the name ‘Komsomolets’.

“Yes…”

“Good, so… if you don’t like the name they originally give you - it’s not the end of the world. Got it, boy?”

“Can-can I-“ abruptly the unit with vivid red hair paused. This idea might appear as disrespectful to his much older roommate, especially at this time. “Um… nevermind. Please forget it, Vitalik.”

Since he was no stranger to witness his roommate’s struggle with the courage to communicate, Fokin who used diminutive Vitalik knew better than to scare the meek unit.

“Whatever it is you are trying to say, I’ll keep an open mind. I promise, Roska.”

Even with that sign of kindness, it still required near a minute for the last Atlant to leave Nikolaev to build back his courage.

“I-I don’t look forward to the days you’ll no longer be here. In case… it happens, co-could I in-inherit your name?” There, he said it. On the opposite side, Fokin was… dumbfounded to say at least. Unlike Varyag, he didn’t think his name was highly desirable anyone would fight for it. This poor boy had to be so desperate if he even thought his name would do.

“Yes, I see no problem. But that also depends on the commanding level, Roska. They may go with that plan, or they may find a better name to suit you.”

Apparently, that answer didn’t fit his expectation. A firm expression of perplex descended on those red brows above blue-gray eyes. “You mean… having permission from the previous name owner isn’t enough?” What even made him believe that way???

“Ustinov used to name Admiral Lobov, then my younger brother’s name changed from Komsomolets to Ustinov’s old name. Isn’t it linked? Like… he gave his permission on his end, even if my younger brother wasn’t yet awakened?”

“Nope. The commanding level always has to involve. They have the final say on this issue.”

Disappointed, the ‘Red Atlant’ sank onto his bed. The poor boy, his name must really bring him a surge of awful memories. Though it was absolutely out of his control, for those issues he knew bothering his roommate, Fokin could only offer some encouragement.

“They, the humans you know, stayed as the same country for years. They might find it easier to negotiate… so, don’t look at everything with that bleak expectation, Roska.” The aging, soon-to-be-gone unit, as he realized his fate fully, attempted to convince the younger not to fall into despair so often. “Slava and Lobov… they can just return in the near future. Have faith in humans. They could prove to be more effective than we androids estimated. Look at how they worked together to avert a full war after 1983.”

  


The figure wearing a garment of bright, poppy flower-liked color wished so much for his trusted older roommate’s words to come true.

  


* * *


	23. Last Will, A Bitter Pill

  


Back in the fleet’s HQ building, more specifically… inside Minsk’s office on the first floor, three frames stood conversing… with one stood at an obvious different level of height.

  


The facial expression displayed as a reply convinced Minsk and Novorossiysk this subordinate ‘felt’ betrayed by this decision. He just wouldn’t say it out loud. Kosek had always carried this timid, soft-spoken demeanor, but he never afraid to be assertive if needed.

“I apologize to suddenly drop this on you. It’s a heavy issue, directly tied to your future.” Although he began with an apology, the Ka-27 didn’t see an opening for him to say no. It was an order. And in military sphere you CAN’T refuse an order. Novorossiysk had proven to be a reasonable superior. There might have been a few miscommunications, leading their performance to fall short of the goal… but overall, the tiny ASW aircraft unit was loyal to the third unit from project 1143.

“Isn’t there… someone capable of that task already in the Northern Fleet, sir?”

“You don’t want to go?” Which answer would let his superior down more? Enthusiastically accept and made Novorossiysk feel like he wanted to get away from him. Or refuse, stay in Vladivostok when he himself proves he was ready to turn down an order from him?

  


Minsk decided to intervene, even though he wasn’t the Kamov’s direct superior. “Going there, you’ll have a better time teaming up with a newest unit. Likely going to go longer than us, who may just rot away in a few years.”

Despite being very well aware of the truth the older brother of his superior talked about, the idea of ‘deserting’ them didn’t sit well with the aircraft subordinate. Although they said they had his future in mind when considered this possibility, to Kosek it didn’t seem to be the right time. He shouldn’t just abandon them because they were aging. If it wasn’t for their home region to suddenly cut tie, this shouldn’t happen…

“Precisely, what you said is why I don’t want to go, sir. It’s not right.”

The blue-green eyes beneath the lighter brown brows stabbed the unit in the same white uniform but with darker hair using a piercing glare. Minsk’s words just made the situation more difficult.

“For his urgent circumstance regarding the relocation, Kuznetsov hasn’t been assigned his personal aircraft units yet. Why don’t you look at it this way, Kosek,” activating his ‘negotiator’ mode, Novorossiysk went about damage control task left by Minsk.

“It’s more like I see you as the only one who can carry this out for me. I’m hopeless. I’m stuck here no matter how much I want to go to Severomorsk and give Kuznetsov assistance. It’s not we’re ditching you using our condition as an excuse.” A moment to let the silence filled in, for the compact unit to process, for the superior to word his speech smoother.

“If you… feel you want to do something for me due to this unfavorable situation I’m in, consider serving under Kuznetsov as something I entrust you. Some kind of last, dying wish if you may say.”

  


The word ‘die’ held no real meaning to androids. They don’t die. They just stop working… and it wasn’t necessary equating ‘death’ as even after a decade, with proper repair and components replacement, they could come back to working capability again.

Yet, when that word passed Novorossiysk’s lips, Kosek was uneasy.

“If you still insist, then Kosek, please tell me what future you see yourself will be in when both I and Minsk are gone?”

Weighing between two options left the light-weighted unit in hefty pressure. What would be worse between leaving these two now, when they were growing weaker day by day, or stay put and witness their ultimate demise with his own eyes? And what would become of him afterward? Reassigning to work under other unit? But even the next largest unit like Frunze possessed no mandatory equipment to provide him the same duty he performed with carrier units. Most likely, he would permanently reassign to an air base on land, no different from the task he ran nowadays with his superior’s incapability to go out to the sea.

  


After a lengthy, agonizing step of deep contemplation, at last Kosek relented, with great regret. “Yes, sir. I… accepted.”

  


* * *

  


Overall, it took nearly a week for the transfer procedure to process. For Kosek to deal with what tie he needed to rid in order to move to the opposite corner to Vladivostok. Fortunately navy’s warfare android didn’t accumulate as many as hassles as their human counterpart did.

The older units, deployed prior to the arrival of Novorossiysk and the little Ka-27, usually held shallow sense of bonding. To them the blond Kamov was just another colleague, casually on friendly terms, but that was about all.

From the entrance of their sole Orlan onward, Kosek had always been the first to witness dynamic of relationship budding between units completing a transition journey together. For Minya and Osmotritelnyy it was a non-stop chat, with Minya initiating roughly 85% of it. Then it was the problematic quartet which he quickly noticed how unusual it was, until he later learned about the ‘Shaposhnikov’s Lineage Theory’ - which was why Miki, Boryushka, Vovka and Boyevoy travelled their last stretch in complete silence. The next memorable trip conducted by Nikolka and Burnyy, who had become close friends during their voyage together from the Baltic Sea.

And the most recent, Roska and Bystryy. Because his direct superior looked forward to the former’s arrival, the Ka-27 himself couldn’t help but took a bit of interest for this unit whom Novorossiysk said ‘someone who shares his hometown but not a sibling’ along with ‘one from the other shipyard’.

  


From this week on, he had to leave them all behind.

  


To embark on his journey to the Northern Fleet, the lone Kamov android needed to traverse thousands of kilometers. With his operation limit of flying at a distance of 800-1000 kilometers per flight with one fueling, it was impossible for him to cover the entire route at once. He needed sporadic pit-stops; for refueling, for shelter from unfavorable weather and check-up of his equipment, if he was to reach Severomorsk safely.

In preparation to coordinate a set of locations for Kosek to stop during his flight, a list of operational bases went through the process of joint brainstorming conducted by both the project 1143 units and the human commanders. Not all the military establishments he was to visit belonged to the navy. Air Force, Ground Forces, even bases of missiles troops all considered. Hence, for the first leg, the departing aircraft unit would fly from Vladivostok to a base near Khabarovsk. From then on, he would stop every 700-800 kilometers to be on the safe side.

Finally, in the second week of January 1992, it was time for the last farewell.

  


Not just other units close to him, but the human commander also sent his men to observe. Some of the androids never seen how Kosek initiating a flight before. So for them, this occasion got them both fascinating and pensive.

“Take care of yourself, Kosek. And thanks for doing this… for us,” hidden by several buildings in the base, while not all of them taller than five storeys, an open space of aged, cracking concrete ground served as an emergency landing spot for helicopter type like the tiny frame in the center of attention today.

By his highest rank, Minsk got to be the first to wish the soon-to-be member of the Northern Fleet. The rest just surrounded in silence now. No word should emerge from them until Minsk finished.

“Thank you for looking after me all these years, Commander. And no need to thank me, sir”

Expecting Minsk to ‘preach’ a lengthy last batch of instructions, other androids except Novorossiysk ended up with a startle with Minsk just threw his hands up. “I’m done.”

Questioning stares exchanged back and forth, as if a volley of missiles, between the rest of the ‘non-human’ navy personnel. And the younger ‘gyrfalcon’ himself didn’t appear to have specific last words for his now former subordinate. Figured they must have talked it out days earlier, a first brave soul in the form of Frunze offered an energetic farewell. “Have a safe voyage, Kosek! I’ll definitely miss you!”

From then erupted an echoing repetition of the same well-wishings. Those hazel-colored lenses swept to notice a few missing faces… Zakharov, Shaposhnikov, Osmotritelnyy.

“Miki needs rest. I’m sorry he can not come to see you off.” Spiridonov offered apologetically. “And Boryushka… well, not to say he doesn’t care about you. If you know, if he comes that means Vovka can’t. So I convinced him to enter ‘sleep’ before we heard of your transfer.”

With a smile, the transiting unit reassured him he took no offense over their absence.

“No worry, Em. It’s already great to have you, Vovka and Nikolka here.”

After that his focus drifted to Minya and Roska - the pair he put up a hope to assist the two project 1143 siblings in his place. “I’m sorry, Minya, Roska. For leaving you to… fill my task if necessary.”

Frunze, being himself as always, returned Kosek a confident gesture. “I will! Who else can handle them but me!!”

Blinking, the third Atlant slowly pulled himself to a distance from the Orlan unit, expecting his words probably aggravated Minsk… yet again.

  


However, Minsk was unresponsive to it.

  


Glancing at the commander among android, from the eyes of someone who also served under him in addition to Novorossiysk, the Kamov could predict that uninterested demeanor was just a show. Possibly, he just didn’t want to wreck Minya in front of humans…

Fully realized deep down the more this ‘see off’ phase dragged on longer, the easier he’d become attached to his friends and superiors again. Looking at all of them one last time, the smallest unit presented gestured for them to clear out, as the radius of his rotor blades would reach when activated to elevate that light frame would pose a grave danger.

“Thank you again, everyone… and I’m really sorry.”

While perplexing expressions hadn’t yet lead to verbal inquiry, the one moving across Russia stated his intention.

“Once I reach Severomorsk, I’ll only focus on working with Kuznetsov. I… won’t try to contact you again outside of missions. Please accept my apologies. I can’t… divert my attention back to you guys here. Do svidaniya-“

  


That frame with a backpack-like equipment knelt down, aligning his torso horizontally to the ground and kept his head down. Soon the motor started rotating, those two sets of rotor blades spinning… slowly gaining speed while each set swung in the opposing direction. A faint strength of wind could be felt, generated from that equipment Kosek wore on his back. Before long it provided the Kamov enough lift as he floated vertically higher and higher… until he cleared the level of the nearest building with most height. 

Looking down from dozens of meters above, the tiny frame saw his old colleagues as small as dots on the ground. Waving his left hand a little, just enough not to disturb his flight, he corrected his posture into ‘flight mode’ and at last flew away northward.

They stood watching until that sound of rotor blades disturbing the air faded away. It was then the humans who came to make sure the departure would go well spoke for the first.

“Second week of January… he must respect you a lot to undertake this journey.” 

Those words went to Novorossiysk, who still couldn’t comprehend the logic behind it quick enough. “Pardon, sir?”

“Thought a carrier unit like you would be easy to understand. Alas, it doesn’t seem to be. But of course, a naval unit like you never fly on an aircraft.” The more the human with the rank of counter-admiral rambled, the less the androids understood what he was talking about. Surrounded by the look akin to being accused as crazy by small children, the counter-admiral sighed.

“Never heard of ice buildup, do you? Flying in winter like this, especially in a region high in humidity here, take that risk up by several folds. Ice build up ruins the aerodynamics. In short, flying through a combination of windy, humid and cold weather can be fatal to Kuzma.”

  


Baffled, it finally dawned to Novorossiysk and Minsk why their little Kamov was so hesitant. He as a unit possessed the ability to fly from start, must grasp this danger by instinct.

“Yes, you basically send him on a death mission,” hammered the aged-man in his late 40s. 

“Let’s hope he’ll defy all the danger. Almost ten years of deployment, he shouldn’t be too witless. He will recognize danger before it will turn fatal for him.”

  


Hours later, a cheer erupted in the android's dormitory as the traveling Ka-27 checked in from his first stop through the telephone.

  


In the end, it took an entire month for Kosek to finish his cross-country flight to Severomorsk - having spent extra days sheltered from raging blizzards in a few locations. Even the same counter-admiral mumbled it was a miracle…

After the last phone call to report his arrival to the Northern Fleet, the androids of the Pacific Fleet never heard from Kosek again. More than anyone, Minsk and Novorossiysk were left with a state their inorganic brain processed the input and identified it as ‘the sense of guilt’.

  


* * *


	24. Fiery Fallen

  


  


“Huh? Kosek?? When did he transfer and… how?”

  


The barely ‘out-of-sleep’ Zakharov was surprised to learn of their Kamov’s sudden departure. By the time his ‘hibernation’ circle completed, the time had shifted to February.

“Novorossiysk decided it’s better for him to transfer there, so Kosek will work with the newer carrier unit and look after him in their stade.” Spiridonov summed up the happenings during his only older brother’s absence, with Shaposhnikov stood nearby redressing himself in uniform, also just woken up himself.

The trouble Zakharov suffered wasn’t as apparent as one attacked Osmotritelnyy. He coughed up no smoke, but it had registered in his system gradually that the inner components were in terrible shape. Without doubt, he needed repair, to replace them - the replacement the Navy couldn’t schedule for him yet over the strained budget. To make a decision which unit to receive a repair had been chaos for the higher-ups, for they endlessly debated which unit to keep alive or abandon for the chance of survival for others.

“And still no news of Panteleyev?” With an expression of defeat, the second oldest but first to arrive among the Fregat clan shook his head.

After finishing putting his uniform back on, the recently ‘slept’ submarine hunter units left their accommodation on the second floor to join the androids outside of their clan downstairs. Next, some oddity struck.

  


Those hanging around heard a loud crashing noise from the connecting between floors, followed by the Fregats’ yelling, “Miki!! Are you okay!?”

  


As active as ever, Frunze was quick to sprint up to see what happened, to find Zakharov lost his footing and fell down.

“Hey! Em, help me here!!” Rapidly the Orlan dished an instruction, and the pair gave Zakharov a lift, steadying his torso to stand back out. It was then the oldest unit among those born in Kaliningrad fully realized his frame’s condition was far worse than he hoped it would be. His right leg… it couldn’t quite withstand his weight as it should be able to while walking.

Once brought back to sit down in the recreation foyer, a few curious yet concerned eyes cast his way. But the eldest member of project 1155 to the side of Pacific was already well-aware of his fate.

“Miki, what happens up there?” The always-looking-out cruiser unit from Leningrad tried to find out if there was any way to help.

However, the reply he got in return was non-verbal. Zakharov just… gave a dejected look. Then mouthed in defeat, “My frame… it probably can’t go on anymore, Minya.”

Though it wasn’t louder than ordinary speech, but the message that speech carried drew attention from the rest of their ‘kind’. This was the common truth they were facing. Gradually each of them lost their strength but the commanding level asked them to keep going, ignoring small maintenance that could help prolong or detect the condition of their structure and components inside.

  


“The joint connecting my hips to right leg, it probably failed now. Standing it doesn’t pose much trouble, but things turn different when I walk. Looked like it simply can’t withstand my weight in walk motion anymore.”

  


Among those quietly ‘snooped’ with concern were their only unit from the Atlant clan and the active Sarych units.

On Frunze’s typically carefree face, a shadow of distress crept as his gray eyes bore frustration. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll find a way to help you, Miki. Don’t worry about the stairs, I can probably hurl you up and down. Boryushka,”

The Fregat with reddish blond hair whose name got called out resisted his dislike for the authority in it. His own relationship with the sole Orlan of Pacific Fleet was kind of hot and cold. Undoubtedly due to Frunze’s frequent intervention to break his fight with Vovka, who would soon ‘get put to sleep’ to avoid clashing with Shaposhnikov… again. But whatever, if Miki’s well-being was at stake, he would listen to him.

“Yes?”

“You may have to help. While my power can handle most of Miki’s weight, you watch for his balance during trips up and down the stairs.”

Stealing a glance of his oldest brother’s condition, the most troublesome unit in the project 1155 made expression like it was the dumbest request he ever heard. “Miki is my brother. Don’t you ever doubt, I’ll do just that, whether or not you ask.”

  


  


Thus the struggle of Zakharov went on for a little over a week… until he decided it was utterly futile.

  


Request sent to Minsk, asking to relocate the ‘ailing’ Fregat to a nearby shipyard. If he couldn’t be of use, then Zakharov himself also preferred not to be a burden. By going to stay at the shipyard, he would be deactivated and spend days there waiting until the humans could carry his repair out, without putting hardship on his fleetmates and brothers.

“Miki, hang in there, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

Nodding to the parting word Spiridonov bade him, Zakharov tardily, stagnantly and painfully descended to the waterfront pier where he donned the last of his equipment - the turbine footwears providing him both floating ability and propeller power to travel on the sea surface. As the Fregat’s usual partners, those black uniformed figures of the Sarych brood also came to see off Zakharov - with the ‘Red Atlant’ tagging along as always. Another Sarych unit, Bezboyaznennyy, Bystryy’s first younger sibling, merely arrived a few days ago, thus adding a rare sense of festive among them. This strike from the danger of aging equipment brought them a heavy restlessness. Now it wasn’t only targeting them because of the design flaw, but also extended its deadly hand over to their partner project.

“Em doesn’t look too well. Between suddenly losing Miki, even just temporary, and the fact he’s now the forefront to manage the aggression of Boryushka on Vovka…” Mused Boyevoy, the unit who witnessed the latter problem first handedly, far before the rest of their fleet… when he undertook the transition journey along with these three Fregat units.

“Heard Osmotritelnyy chewed you over it? When you closed in to push that Boryushka off our Vovka.” Attempting to lighten up the mood a bit, Burnyy chirped in, to the grin from the second ‘buzzard’ to arrive in Vladivostok.

“Well, he so thought I was the problematic one. Alas, I had the last laugh… for certain not over Vovka’s misfortune though.”

  


With help from the tugboat androids, Zakharov stood on the surface, trying to reorient his senses as it had been quite a long while since the last he went out to the sea. This journey wasn’t supposed to be a strenuous one, just to deliver himself to the shipyard on another side of the Ussuriy Bay.

“Well, see you again, everyone.” The more-fragile-than-usual Fregat offered his farewell to those coming to see him off.

Then, knowing the Sarych bunch was nearby, he mustered his strength to shout at them.

“You’re free to help Em stop the fight! But only pulling Vovka away, not engaging in a physical fight with Boryushka, you hear me?! Especially you, Boyevoy!!!”

Hearing his name got called out aloud, the current oldest unit of project 956 in the eastern fleet faked a scowl amidst the laughter from his own brood. They guessed Boyevoy probably tried to stay true to his name during the transition journey… and Miki along with Vovka had to intervene before he made an actual enemy out of Shaposhnikov.

The unit with a white officer shirt, black tie, reddish blond hair and dagger gray eyes mentioned shifted his glance at the noisy buzzards briefly but paid them no mind. What preoccupied him at this moment was Zakharov’s future.

  


A signal sent, and the tugboat units guided Zakharov away from the pier toward the deeper water within the Golden Horn Bay. Around fifty meters from the constructed waterfront, the first gate to their base coming from the sea the oldest Fregat waved back at those staying in the base one last time before he turned and headed southward, pulling away from everyone’s visual sensory.

The crisp air of February made him realize how badly some of his joints could allow movement right now. Part of the bay froze up into thousands, if not millions, scattered pieces of small ice floes which he needed to be mindful of.

He noticed an abnormal strong vibration from one of the footing equipment. Even these were in a terrible condition as he was. They better not give up before he reached the last destination he’d travel to within the foreseeable future. Inside, he had one major disappointment - possibly, he wouldn’t be there when Panteleyev at last transferred to Vladivostok. But what could androids like them do to avoid that?

  


* * *

  


  


Zakharov left for about an hour now, Minsk only received the report of his departure from Novorossiysk. So they lost one Fregat unit until… who knew when he would reward with the thorough repair he required. And what was with Panteleyev?? This was getting ridiculous. For a destroyer unit dealing with anti-submarine warfare, he shouldn’t take Chervona Ukrayna’s example of the period delayed!

  


However, his grumpy thoughts were interrupted by a shrieking sound of telephone.

  


“Yes? Minsk’s here.”

“This is the communication division! We received a radio call that something terrible struck Zakharov! An accident!!!” If only he was a human, Minsk was sure his blood ran cold upon hearing that.

“What!! Ho- and is the commanding level-“

The human on the other end shouted through the handset, cutting whatever Minsk was trying to ask.

“The commander orders for another unit to rescue him! Send your command to the fastest we have available, please!” The flagship already threw down the handset at the end of the relaying. His sturdy frame almost tore off the door to his office as his thundering voice struck down at his younger brother who was talking to a subordinate meters down the hallway. His order was swift, “Novorossiysk!!! Run to the equipment bay and get the footing equipment of the Sarych! Meet me at the pier!!”

Drowned by the sense of urgency in his older sibling’s voice, the light-haired unit didn’t even question what happened. Minsk might be a pretentious annoyance now and then, but his responsibility as the flagship was real.

Stepping aside quickly, the smaller, lower-ranked unit gave Novorossiysk a path to do as ordered. With a bewildered look, he then watched his commander again almost crashed out of the front door of the HQ building. What on earth could be happening?!

  


As he got himself out in the chilly air, he didn’t immediately spot any Sarych within the sight? Where could they be at the time likely?

Thus the worst fell to whoever lingered around close enough to affect by Minsk’s furious yelling. “Fucking Sarych!!! Where in the living fuck are you all at!?” - if one was close enough, they should scurry to him fast enough. If not, anyone hearing his vent would run an errand for him to find them… or point him to one.

And it worked. “Um… Commander. Bystryy and Bezboyaznennyy are still around the pier, sir.”

No gratitude spared his way. A unit belonged to the 1135 project watched his superior moved frantically toward the part he suggested. Before long another bang came from the door of the HQ building, this time was Novorossiysk with the equipment asked by his sibling. Even though not too certain, the same unit offered a clue, “Commander is going to the pier for Bystryy and his brother if you look for him.”

This time he got a rapid “Thanks!” in return before the second frame in the same full white uniform as the flagship darted that direction, too.

  


  


“Oh, it’s… complicated. Our relationship with the Fregat brood meant to be smooth. At the moment, with you here, our number us one more than them. We usually go in pairs with them during missions as you know - we handle the air defence, them the ASW.” 

Bezboyaznennyy offered a weak smile at the older, messy brown-haired unit. The others left them to bond as the siblings in the order immediate next to each other here in the Far East. Yet Bystryy just kept rambling basic info the newer unit already knew. And he just… didn’t think it would be right to interrupt his brother. Maybe he only acted funny because it was his first chance to be an older sibling and he was just clueless.

“Therefore, you’re saying my supposed ‘partner’ is Panteleyev?” He had seen this ‘Panteleyev’ around at the Baltiysk base but his five-day stay before the beginning of transition didn’t grant Bezboyaznennyy enough time to interact with the yet-to-commission Fregat.

So yeah, it was probably better to keep quiet… so Bystryy wouldn’t know yet this ‘Panteleyev’ shared his hair color - only a couple of shades of minor difference.

In a situation akin wild elephant ran amok, judging by both noise and the tremble their sensors soon picked up from the thick concrete ground, the two Sarych units lost their focus on the conversation with Minsk ‘trumpeted’ through the air - 

  


“Damn Bystryy! Here you are!!!”

  


To say the older android in black marine uniform experienced what humans classified as ‘scared for his life’ by such a forceful approach of his fleet commander would be so much of an understatement.

By instinct, the unit who escorted Chervona Ukrayna from Sevastopol jerked his frame to stand at attention while fumbled to respond.

  


“Y-yes, sir!” W-what had he gotten himself into? 

  


That doubt lasted just a second before it was shattered by the other unit with a similar tone of brown hair but worn white uniform as he barked, “Get to the pier!! You need to get out! Fast!!! Zakharov has an accident!”

“No way-“ though not knowing the eldest brother of his partner project well enough, that news shook Bezboyaznennyy. He… just witnessed Zakharov’s departure just less than an hour ago. This shouldn’t be happening!

Bystryy himself was ‘numb’; his inorganic brain slightly overloaded but quickly recovered. He must, for the Fregats!!!

“Commander, but my equipment, sir!” yelled Bystryy, only to be sent toward the pier by Minsk’s much louder scream, “JUST FLIPPIN’ GET TO THE PIER BEFORE I THROW YOU THERE MYSELF!!!”

Then approach another pair of footsteps, as heavy as those of the flagship’s. Novorossiysk followed closely, with equipment in his grip quickly caught the attention of the younger Sarych as they were too small for the secretary himself.

“Bystryy! Your equipment!!” ...if Novorossiysk had the possession of them, that meant the metallic door protecting the slot keeping the brown-haired Sarych’s equipment and armaments was already torn open. That much told Bezboyaznennyy of the obvious emergency. Hence the more agile destroyer ran in and yanked those from the larger unit.

“Please forgive me, sir! Bro!! Let me help you put them on! You take the right one, okay?!”

That cut the preparation time significantly, and soon Bystryy was on the surface of the Golden Horn Bay’s icy water, pushing his way toward the exit to the Sea of Japan. Several androids fortunate enough to still hang on to their survivability despite the increasing dismal situation began to gather around, needless to say, intrigued by the emergency of the brief interactions the ‘gyrfalcons’ carried out toward the two youngest ‘buzzards’.

Not a couple minutes passed by before the slow, sturdy frame of another person in a navy uniform with a high rank on his shoulder insignia appeared. Not another android this time. The fleet commander himself.

“Sir,” Minsk turned to his only direct superior, whom he expected to know the details better. “What exactly happened?”

There were still clouds of warm air that prevented the man in his early sixties to answer promptly. Unlike Minsk and Novorossiysk, the run to the pier was hard on his physique and added burden to the respiratory system. First, he caught sight of Bystryy heading toward the open sea, which was a relief. 

“The detail is still unclear. Fire or explosion, they said something along that line.”

“Explosion?” repeated the third project 1143 unit, in suspicion. “But, he carries none of his armaments, sir? The structure for armaments placement, yes, but the missiles and guns are left behind in his slot still.”

“How on earth could he suddenly catch fire?” Minsk mused in an equally doubtful manner.

  


But no one knew for certain. They had to wait until a report from Bystryy would reach the base later…

  


  


Bystryy wasn’t back until the next morning.

  


By that time the cause was already clear; catastrophic failure of old equipment. It seemed one of Zakharov’s footing equipment exploded during the journey. From the force of the explosion, not only it damaged his lower leg, but shrapnels from the broken up floating and navigating aid on his foot shot up and penetrated through his weakening joints on the torso… with grim precision. Not only they ruined the inner circuit but also rupture his ‘stomach’ - internal fuel reserve.

Of all the fourteen months the androids had seen Bystryy around their base, they never remembered seeing him in a totally dispirit state like now. Even though android didn’t have soul or whatever superstition humans believed of the ‘finer’ core of their being, the brown-haired Sarych could have been seen as ‘losing the life inside him’ by the time he returned, thoroughly exhaust.

They could only wonder what he saw… or possibly heard from Zakharov.

After storing his footgear back in the slot belonged to… well, surprised, surprised! Novorossiysk must have reached for whichever was most convenient for him. The victim was Stoykiy’s slot, with the metallic door hastily reattached as a make-do solution for the moment. Briefly looking and wondering if this particular sibling of his aware of the damage yet, he then headed back to the dorm.

There he found his brothers, along with Frunze, waiting for him. As always, his first friend whom he met in Sevastopol was there as well. Yet, the drained ‘Fast’ was in no state to converse with them. He only posed one question, after which he expected they would leave him alone for some time.

  


“Where… the Fregats? All of them.”

  


With concern in his eyes, Burnyy pointed to the second floor where all the Fregat units had their rooms located. “In Em’s room, as far as I know.”

A quiet nod and he went onto the stairs with a tardy movement. The short, another speech he offered was, “Minya, Roska… they’ll bring him back soon. Go to the waterfront.” Then the crestfallen Sarych finished his brief ascending, heading to the room as instructed.

“Roska, go with me. And brace yourself, this might be… not pleasant.” Frunze himself expected it to be something in particular if Bystryy specifically asked his Atlant friend for the task. He should know more than anyone of the ‘Red Atlant’s’ sensitivity. If Roska was chosen… it likely had something to do with the fact that he was a cruiser type, hence stronger than the smaller destroyers or frigates.

  


Dozen of steps brought the wobbled fifth member of the project 956 to room number 14 on the floor. He meant to just knock on the door lightly, instead found himself giving a disproportionate pound on it. Where… was the aggression- no, frustration was more like it, originated from?

Without a delay, the door opened - and Vinogradov’s concern eyes swept over the barely returned Sarych. “Bystryy?” The presently youngest among the project 1155 hesitated, not knowing which question he should be asking first - about Zakharov or how his friend was doing. To say the state he saw on the one sent to rescue his eldest sibling was worrying didn’t quite nail it. Clearly it affected Bystryy really hard. He lost his usual lively and energetic vibe.

“I-“ Tributs’ hand was lightning fast to pull his supposedly ‘surrogate little brother’ into the room. Silently agreeing with his Nikolka, he also thought the frame in black uniform might collapse, “Come in here, bro. Sit on my bed. You need it, trust me.”

As much as he wanted to protest how he was not a ‘fragile’ human, Bystryy found he only followed his fellow Leningrad native’s wish. So obediently, the brown-haired Sarych, now his hair in the worse condition than usual and smelt a trace of lingered fume, sat at the foot of Tributs’ bed close to the door which he requested the Fregat of similar age to close behind. No one else should be allowed to hear this… even involuntarily.

Facing the anticipating eyes from four Fregat units, three of them shining the consideration for Bystryy’s own well-being, he just… what could he do? How to handle it gently??

  


“Everyone, I’m sorry…” in visible agony, Bystryy probably had what was equating to a ‘breakdown’ in humans. All because he never experienced such a situation that bestowed this much hopelessness on him. “I-I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t do enough to save Miki…”

  


Unquestionably this was far from easy for the quartet to hear, but they resigned to it. Nothing to blame on Bystryy - he was dragged into doing a task he wasn’t meant for.

“So we lost him…” Em’s voice was pensive, trying his best to conceal the painful tone.

“Thank you, Bystryy. We know you tried your best, so… don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Even only from visual data, how much of this ate up their companion was evident. Vovka reached over and patted that greasy brown mess of hair. It sure has been a long, tiresome day for his ‘sibling of a different project’. 

Against the visibly emotional atmosphere in the room, Shaposhnikov… who maintained his peculiar composed demeanor hit the Sarych with another question, one most would consider bizarre to hear from his mouth. “Did he sink out there?”

  


Three pairs of gray eyes zeroed on his with wide varieties of expressions attached to them. Quickly risen anger from Tributs, astonishment from Vinogradov and puzzlement from Spiridonov. What reason led him to ask it out loud? He… was the closest one to Zakharov. One who shared the room with the eldest unit… who now would leave a considerable space in that room.

  


“No,” to stop that war he reckoned might flare up, the lone Sarych interjected as fast as he could.

That lone, short word lifted up the trio. Shaposhnikov registered no change.

“They… the humans, they asked for help from a civilian vessel. To help steady him above the surface… so he won’t entirely sink. But um… Miki, he… lost. You understand, his system isn’t running anymore.”

“Then,” Em shifted his posture, as if to rise. “Will they… bring him back?”

An erratic wave of processing took over Bystryy’s inorganic brain. Should he lie? Until this minute he was sure no one else except him had the information of Zakharov’s current state. Their eldest brother wasn’t completely destroyed but…

“F-for now, they bring him back. You realize, the underground level of our dorm…”

That was where the units chosen not to ‘continue’ kept, in hope someday in future they could enter the repair process properly and return to active duty. 

“Minya and Roska… are out there to bring him in.”

  


Hearing that, all the four figures started breaking out of their static state. Vinogradov was still the closest to the door, hence the one extended his arm reaching for the doorknob. Instead, in a flash, his body was forcefully shoved aside. Bystryy… he wasn’t able to process it with thoroughness when his body acted according to a flash of command. A command that traced to no logical reason right now as he pushed his torso back up against the door, blocking the four from going out.

“I-I’m sorry, Nikolka. But you guys… you can’t see him-“

It was like his sensory, especially hearing fades out, as his eyes continued to pick up the reaction of these fours… yet his hearing sensory registered no sound to the questions and protests directed at him. 

He only knew what he wanted to tell them.

  


“No… no matter what, I-I can’t... let you see him. You all are better off not seeing him! He wouldn’t want you to see him!!!”

  


All the four units in white shirts and contrast solid black ties would have raised a serious issue to question him if he wasn’t the last who witnessed their brother’s demise. That unfortunate status granted him a trustworthy air in persuading them on this issue.

  


* * *

  


“Roska, steady your grips”

  


Lazarev sent his words back to his partner in this depressive task. At last Zakharov arrived… in a close metallic container resembled a casket for humans. It wasn’t meant to be an actual casket… more like a thin box to keep curious eyes from seeing the unsightly state their comrade ended up in… and to prevent pieces of him to fall apart.

Still, some of their colleagues tried to pry the process which the Orlan had to ask them to open the path to the basement where none of them frequent. Noticeably, none of the Fregats was around.

The pair of cruisers carefully descended along the lightly dusted stairs. For Roska, he had heard of this section of their dorm building prior, but never wished to have anything to do with it. This would be the first time he came into contact with it… and the reality of the scale of the catastrophe eating up their fleet. On the other hand, Frunze navigated the floor with ease, showing he had been here before, if not multiple times. 

Eventually, they reached their destination - a vast space which… kinda looked like an enormous hall… or maybe storage space like in industrial warehouses?

He never got to step beyond the outside though, for his Orlan friend promptly relieved him off the duty.

“Thanks, Roska. You can go back upstairs now. I can handle the rest.”

While there was an expression of uncertainty crossed his face, the ‘Red Atlant’ agreed to leave in the end. Since they ‘made up’, the black-haired unit with the blue cape proved to be an attentive friend who cared for his well-being. But before ascending the staircase, he couldn’t help but ask something which weighed heavily in his system.

“Vitalik… will he come here when… you know, humans ‘decide’ his time ends?”

Frunze’s response was slow. Deliberately, he considered how to word the answer so it wouldn’t cause Roska’s morale to sink farther.

“This place is for… only those human commanders plan to repair and reactivate them one day. So that means… they still want Miki back. There’s a chance Miki will come back to us,” feeling it would be wiser to sugarcoat the bitter truth with some positivity first, the sole project 1144 unit mentioned about what was possible ‘in theory’. “As for Vitalik, well…”

It would be unpleasant, but he couldn’t lie.

“Vitalik has been serving far longer than us. It’s… time for his well-deserved retirement. Unfortunately, Roska, when they deactivate him, he won’t be here. They don’t plan to use his service anymore.”

“Where would he go, then?”

Well, here went the hardest, harshest reality part. “He… will be dismembered. His inorganic brain will be cleaned out of all memories, deactivation command sends in so he’ll ‘sleep’. Then they disassemble his body… metals from our structure can always be moulded into something, hence valuable enough to strip androids like us of our own body.”

Against Lazarev’s expectation, the explosion of a certain emotion display he expected didn’t materialize. The Atlant in red kosovorotka seemed calmer than how his usual demeanor often seen.

Using a nod gesture to thank Frunze, without further words the third unit of project 1164 left.

  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****** So here is the event featured in the backstory of Bystryy and the Fregat androids in Pacific Fleet. The details of real Zakharov's fire is quite vague, even from Russian wikipedia and other sources I can find. Besides, I don't really want to write the exact scene of what happened that Bystryy witnessed; even though they're androids, it may still resemble too much to an ordinary human death by being burned alive.


	25. An Old Face Returned

  


  


“Seriously!? That’s you, K-223!!! You… it’s been so long!”

  


For the ‘blond squid’ who finally returned from the abyss of forgotten ‘inactive’ list in the roster of the Pacific Fleet, to see the black-haired Orlan again instilled a sense of relief. Just as Minya said, it had been so long. Too long, even. Enough that the state he was taught to serve for… was now a past, no longer extending its once fearful claws over Europe and Asia.

They now served under a state known by Russia. Despite when receiving order, humans still referred to whence it came from as ‘Moscow’.

“You have no idea how wonderful it is you come to see me, Minya. Here I’m actually wondering if there’s still somebody I know. It seemed like… even our HQ changed… a lot.” Couldn’t be something else other than how their Vladivostok base had quieted down significantly. Not only the older units were leaving, having depleted their lifespan as a combatant unit. The practice of ‘sleeping’ to reserve their fuel was also becoming a norm. 

“Not everyone has our kind of privilege, you know…” obvious to them, what the second Orlan referred to meant their ‘core’ - nuclear reactor. 

After coming ashore from his short swim across the bay from Bolshoy Kamen, the ‘squid’ surely got a few curious eyes his way. How many new members were commissioned since the last time he showed his face here? “Hey, Em can’t be the only Fregat we have here now, right? Tell me about the others.” Spiridonov was the sole Fregat unit he met back in 1986.

To his surprise, the liveliness in Minya’s usual self dimmed noticeably.

“All right, we got… four of them after you passed to Zvezda. Three in 1987, one in 1989. This year, we should get another, Panteleyev.” That didn’t sound like it warranted the solemn mood settled on his friend, thought K-223. “The initial group are Zakharov, Tributs and Shaposhnikov. The 1989 guy is Vinogradov. I’ll take you to greet them later.”

  


“The matter is, we just lost Zakharov two months ago. Fire, from accident.”

  


In an instance it dawned to the absent submarine unit of what he needed to be cautious for. No wonder if their Orlan’s mood became dispirited, the directly affected bunch was going to be worse.

“No way… those poor guys,” groaned the unit who feared he would suffer the same fate back in that dismal September 1983. 

“They’re hanging on there, somehow…” Lazarev’s voice trailed off, for he perceived that wasn’t quite true. “Like I said, this year the newest is supposed to join our fleet! The Fregats are looking forward to it, so do we here!”

Those locks of blond hair, now looked much better after the maintenance, bobbed as K-223 nodded in agreement. Welcoming a new sibling was always a positive milestone. How he would have enjoyed it much better… if only that complete mess of the unfortunate September 1983 didn’t happen…

In the end though, the newly returned Kalmar couldn’t tell if his side won or lost in the Cold War. Lost, because now the once mighty Soviet Union shattered. Won, for how they all survived having to face a nuclear war… but their arch enemy also experienced that.

“What else are the big news here while I was in Bolshoy Kamen?” asked the unit whose native base located thousands of kilometers away northeastwards.

“Hmm… you know about… territorial losses? Parts that broke off to become independent countries?”

A quick nod, and the darker-haired nuclear eater slowly elaborated the situation inside their changing fleet.

“Commander had it hard. Not his mental-wise, though. He was meant to return to Nikolaev for mid-life repair, but… it’s impossible now. The commanding hope perhaps they can negotiate with Zvezda to fill in. For someone recently stays there, do you see the possibility?”

  


Repair? For a massive unit like Minsk? 

  


Not going to happen, K-223 knew that much. Not only the shipyard struggled with funding and the amount of pending work, they lacked the proper equipment to make it possible.

“As far as I know by the state of the shipyard now — no. Unless they can… cooperate on something… to make it possible.”

To respond, Lazarev tilted his head upward. How he hoped that could come true? No matter what, wishful thinking was just like what humans called it. And reality… was what they best prepared themselves for. “You need to report to him, right? Come, I’ll go with you. This… may be the last time you see him, if I’ll be truthful.”

“His condition… it’s that terrible?” 

“Not just him, even younger units like the Sarych are in trouble. But yes… he seems as if suddenly aging, fast.”

  


  


Their short walk into the HQ building, straight to the flagship office on the first floor accompanied by silence. Compared to his last trip here in 1986, the building itself also took the brunt of the ‘aging’ process. Color of the wall got duller, linoleum on the floor became less shiny, and the wooden door to the office lost some of its polished surface. Before they reached that precise barrier though, it moved on its own — opened inward to reveal a figure in vivid color emerging.

That body stopped dead on its track. Bewildered by the stranger he spotted being next to his friend.

“Roska, hey!” With a short burst, Lazarev took a few long strides to catch his Atlant buddy before the other decided to make himself gone. “Do you need to do anything soon? If not, let’s hang out! I want to introduce you to K-223. He’s our SSBN android from Kamchatka!”

Well, K-223 got to admit that was some captivating fabric this unit wore as his uniform shirt. And this color? Bright red like a tomato.

Again, with his usual insightful personality, the Orlan knew what to do next. 

“Nope, not a word, K-223. Especially if you’re gonna mention something about his shirt or hair. Our boy here has been constantly bullied for them. I don’t drag you here to add your name on his ‘bullies’ list.”

Timidly and perplexingly, the red Atlant quietly positioned himself behind his trusted friend in the project 1144. He couldn’t estimate how it would go with this unfamiliar submarine unit. Minya had the gift of befriending everyone; even those who turned not as nice to him as they are to the cruiser from Saint Petersburg.

“I see. I’m sorry I almost did something inconsiderate.” At least, that apology was something new for Chervona Ukrayna. But overall the friendly tone of the submarine android standing at the same height as him was genuine. Slowly, that head of bold red locks nodded in acceptance, yet unsure of what to do with the conversation he suspected the tallest unit among them expected to take place.

“Let me go in to report to Commander. I’ll be back to get to know you — ehh.”

After the ordeal when the region home to both this red unit and their superior inside slipped out of the USSR, Lazarev definitely didn’t want the ‘problematic’ name to be mentioned carelessly.

“Just call him Rostislav. How long will you hang around before returning to Kamchatka?” Words fired rapidly to the rescue.

“Two days according to schedule. Admit I’m anxious to return. What can I do?”

Excused himself, the tenth squid went to the door and knocked. Chervona Ukrayna’s eyes fixated on the submarine upper body uniform; it looked uncomfortable. A call from behind the wooden door permitted him to go in, and K-223 temporarily went out the surface ship pair’s sight.

  


“Have you known him long?”

“Long enough… since 1985. Although, this is only the second time I see him.” Expression on the younger cruiser’s face indicated he didn’t quite get it.

“Back then he left Kamchatka for mid-life repair, in Bolshoy Kamen across the ‘medium’ bay, you know.” ‘Medium bay’ referred to the Bay of Ussuriy, itself part of the larger ‘Peter the Great Bay’ which stretched westward to Korean Peninsula. Their own Golden Horn Bay was just one of the tiny bays scattering around this area. “So… basically he was in Zvezda longer than you being here.”

“So… he’s a veteran,” muttered the unit whose outward appearance was far bolder than his voice.

“Probably more than you think. Remember the ‘September 1983’ thing you heard here and there? He was in Kamchatka when it happened.” Lazarev tilted his face to gesture the direction inside the flagship office.

“Novorossiysk wasn’t even here yet at the time. Since I know you won’t dare ask Commander what it was like here back then, I guess you can ask your roommate.”

“Someday…” the third Atlant’s voice trailed off.

In his calculation, Admiral Fokin might not find it upset to tell about that difficult time. On the other hand, he was more afraid his system, already overloaded with worry for Slava and his younger brother, might not be able to handle it. Had the situation not significantly deescalated by the time he was sent from Sevastopol to here, he was pretty sure Slava would have had an even much harder time to get rid of him from the Black Sea Fleet’s HQ. He would never want to come. Ever.

Whether or not Slava foresaw this, right now he and the second Orlan were in a similar situation. Both of them technically ‘lost’ their eldest brothers. Regarding Kirov, he didn’t know in detail. It said he wasn’t active — maybe in a state akin to that of Osmotritelnyy who waited for his repair to commence.

  


Sound of the door lock being released, then the blond-haired emerged from the office. “All done. Should we move outside or to the canteen?”

“Canteen will be nicer. You may just catch the Fregat bunch there!” 

And thus, Chervona Ukrayna followed the two older units into the canteen, wondering if K-223 would spot any difference on the meal choice offered there nowadays…

If he last visited it in 1986, the economy had disoriented for the worse since then.

  


* * *

  


  


“That was brilliant of your clan to have alternative human names, Rostislav.” Slowly, the tenth unit of project 667BDR learned about the lone ‘carrier killer’ presented in the Far East. For the ordeal he forced through, it left little doubt why the youngster in red kosovorotka didn’t want to hear his ‘official name’ being used over and over. Pretty much now the fleet switched to this ‘Rostislav’ name in several forms; whether full or diminutives.

Their ‘meal’ by this period reduced to just one bowl of soup. Bread, what little they had possession of, reserved only for humans now.

Not confident what to answer as he wasn’t the one coming up with the said scheme, the third Atlant only offered a nod in return. And it brought him back to Nikolaev. What name would his younger brother choose for himself?

“So who’s the next one in your brood to receive repair?” The Orlan nudged conversation to another direction, having noticed the inevitable effect K-223’s words had on his cruiser friend.

“If I heard the workers’ conversation correct…” small pause.

  


“K-433.”

  


Spoon went into Lazarev’s gloved hand as he absentmindedly stirred his food. “Talk about unfavorable timing. After six years, you’d be dying to go back to spend time with him. And soon he’ll be here? Grrr… I hope the repair goes better for him!”

“Thanks. I hope so, too.” The submariner’s hazel eyes cast down at his bowl. Other than a couple of potato pieces and some dill leaves floating, there was not much beside the broth. The first meal back in Severodvinsk, despite being a ‘test’, was richer in nutrients. Did the state of his state fall back this far? His focus concentrated more on the humans. For androids like them, they wouldn’t complain if their meal went far to consist only of broth liquid. To humans, it was an entirely different matter.

“Say, Minya. I hope you’ll help Rostislav here make friends with my brother, too?”

“Consider it done.” 

The Orlan nonchalantly replied while blue-gray eyes from the one whose name was attached to that request gave him an uncertain look.

“Don’t worry, young one. My brother won’t be mean to you, take my words. I’ll inform him about your troubles first so he won’t repeat my mistake.”

“K-433 is like Nikolka, Roska. I know him. I can assure you what K-223 says is true.” Then it dawned to him.

“Oh, and Nikolka is Vinogradov from the Fregat bunc—” “WAIT. K-223, is that you?!”

Merry voice originated from not five meters away. It was Spiridonov who recognized the returning Kalmar, amidst the lack of same enthusiasm among the three younger 1155 brothers who met the submarine for the first time.

And thus, their table grew… with the four destroyers units in identical uniforms of white and black colors pulling chairs to join in. Topics gradually shifted away from the red Atlant’s troubles, to earthquakes K-223 had missed while in Bolshoy Kamen… to how Vinogradov went to visit the US west coast during the ‘thawing’ period of Cold War, ultimately concluded with the recent deployment of submarine androids under the project 949A.

“How nice… so some of them come with a name right off the bat,” moaned the oldie who still stuck with one letter and number for ‘name’.

“Well, you have time before you’ll go to dwell in your sadness, friend! Kasatka won’t transit until next year!” Trust the social-loving Orlan to quickly form connections with those first-batch units in the Antey clan. Now he could just pick up the phone to call them for internal family details.

“I heard, is it true that… having a name only reserved for some special case in submarines’ tradition?” asked Vinogradov with intrigue. He knew of a few with names, but never truly understood the rule behind it.

“Correct. As far as I know, not even the Akula clan received any name. They just go by one extra letter — ‘TK’ instead of ‘K’.”

“I’m more than certain the last time I chatted with K-44 he mentioned nothing about a change to that,” always had some input to interject into conversation was very typical of the Pacific Orlan. “Come on, don’t give me green-eyed. They shoved me into the Northern Fleet for months before coming here, K-223! Of course I’d know your youngest brother!”

Round of light chuckle rang around their lively table. Most joined in except Shaposhnikov and cruiser from where it was now Ukraine. They just observed the conversation.

“So what can you tell me about these Antey kids? What’s their uniform? What eye color they have??” Seeing this clan born in Sevmash just like him and his lineage, the blond squid wanted to know all about them. Suddenly eyes were on the unit wearing kosovorotka. Only, they weren’t staring at that typical attention-grabbing piece of clothing. They couldn’t help it, their ‘Roska’ was the only one with what they looked for…

“Look here,” Tributs called for the older submarine’s attention as his hand pulled the skewed collar on Chervona Ukrayna to open wider. “Telnyashka, see? The Anteys they wear sleeveless telnyashka on their upper body!”

If only the Sarych brood joined them also, the Fregat from the same hometown as Lazarev’s wouldn’t need to use the awkward Atlant for example.

“Yeah? They don’t wear a form-fitting bodysuit like mine? How interesting!” The lone submarine among surface ships picked on his newly restored wetsuit; this garment did a terrible job at heat ventilation but since his area of operation encompassed mostly in regions with icy water, so far it hadn’t posed many troubles.

Lunch hour went by, and the androids still stayed glued to their seats. Completely engrossed themselves in the topic of new reinforcement in Kamchatka.

  


For once, Spiridonov left off his system from being preoccupied with Zakharov’s tragedy. “Wait until you hear this! Their swimsuit is actually a pair of swim shorts! Yup, it’s form-fitting like your full body suit but like, only cover from waist to above the knee. Honestly, I’d never thought they’d approve such a uniform!!! I’d be less surprised to see it worn by American submarines!”

He surely talked a lot. And all those who stayed in Vladivostok together when eldest Fregat was lost felt this should be one of the days they’d let Spiridonov take over the conversation to his heart’s content…

  


* * *


	26. A Home that Changed

  


  


The hidden bay behind the tiny cape facing the largest city on the Kamchatka Peninsula had grown quiet. Grass poking through the cracking paved streets and pavements once buzzing with numerous submarine androids, population had declined and despite the air was getting warmer and brief summer finally made its round to this northern land again, the liveliness of the settlement still resembled a ghost town. Although this settlement shed the military name of 'Petropavlovsk-Kamchatkiy-50', it did very little in uplifting the community. 

By the pier, aging and lacking proper maintenance, found K-433 sat alone basking against the wind from the Pacific Ocean.

A contact from Vladivostok notified him of the journey back to Kamchatka undertaken by K-223. To this day, over a week has gone by. He couldn’t wait to see his brother again. So many surprises waiting for him here. Although, admittedly, he wouldn’t be proud to talk about how the collapse of the USSR affected this closed settlement they called home.

Vilyuchinsk, as the base and adjoining settlement were known now, started its existence into the 90s with shaky toddler's steps. Their base survived a full confrontation of nuclear war between the USSR and the US. Yet they still lost so many comrades in quick succession, as if they went through wars for real.

Nearby, a civilian settlement whose major earnings came through fishery also dwindled. Sometimes, he could hear seagulls fighting for the leftover by the port. Trawlers were going out to the sea less often, likely because of the skyrocketing price of petrol.

  


A crackling noise told the base’s PA system came to life.

_“Contact received from K-223. He’s about a half hour away from entering the Avacha Bay. Those who wish to welcome him, to the pier.”_

  


Raising up, the squid whose crooked nose was his most recognizable feature stretched his body, inevitably hearing cracks and clicks here and there. Oh boy, he definitely needed the repair. No need to doubt that announcement was mainly for him, but he was the first here. In fact, he had been lounging at the pier during daytime for a few days already. Both because of the decreasing military operations after the collapse, also his worsening condition, he’d been free from missions for a while now.

“K-433, you’re fast!” hollered from several dozens meters away, the first other submarine unit to arrive was, easily identified by the uniform, an Antey. How funny… if only K-442 realized he hadn’t moved for close to a couple of hours until he got up to stretch.

“Don’t you doubt it! I made sure I’ll win by coming here four hours ago,” laughing at the dumbfounded expression stuck on the most recently arrived Antey, the squid with dark auburn hair then got to his usual pleasant self.

“Thanks for coming. It’s very nice of you. I’m sure he’s looking forward to meet you and your brothers.”

  


They killed time by chatting on random topics, all the while the area was slowly filling up with other androids. Chatters became a unified buzzing, intangible sound as the oldies familiar with the returning unit found fun in guessing the reactions of K-223 towards several aspects of their base that shifted with time. Later, the first two Antey units also arrived.

A pair of tugboat androids came in with their equipment in hands. Before long they were on the water, spreading out away from the shore to meet up with the incoming unit.

_‘You think he’d know our old boss retired?’_

_‘Knowing how chatty Minya is, yeah probably. But he best not let it out on who steps up!’_

K-433’s hazel eyes swept over to the growing group. Supposedly, to his sibling’s eyes, it was just those who he’s familiar with — minus the three Antey units. Even with a few considered ‘familiar’, there was a little twist to it…

A single voice directed everyone’s attention to the water surface, “There he is!”

  


On the cue, the androids engaged an enhanced mode to their visual reception. About a half kilometer away, a soaked mop of blond hair broke through the water surface as the tenth Kalmar communicated with the aides sent to bring him in. Clutching large towels and his own pair of black uniform trousers, for those in the past belonging to K-223 himself moldered away with time, the younger brother with dark auburn hair jogged onto the reinforced concrete pair, with another sibling in tow carrying a pair of uniform boots.

“Took you long enough! We almost believed you liked Vladivostok better you never wanted to return!” 

Quipping long had somewhat become their usual mode of communication. At least, since the time K-223 embarrassed him with the show of utter stupidity inside the boss’ office back when the younger unit leading him along the pier transferred. And now the year had already gotten through the entire decade of the 80s. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, this blond once nuisance of a brother has now qualified as a veteran in their division.

“K-490! You’ll never stop biting for once, seriously?!” A shout came back to the shore.

Yet it was clear there was no bad blood between brothers, they just treated each other like usual… even after six years apart.

A mini celebration took place as the long-absent unit pulled himself off the sea surface. It was as if every one of his old comrades from the 80s, especially those older, wanted a piece of him to show their envy over how he barely passed a repair. Hand after hand were on his head, ruffling his hair so chaotically he wondered what his hair even looked like at the end. Meanwhile, the newer, younger units left blinking at the is-it-friendly-or-what reminiscing among familiar faces.

“Seriously. Cut it off! Do I even have time to comb my hair before reporting to whoever is the new delegate here?” Hissed the unit in the middle of wiping water droplets off his body, to a booing by his colleagues who survived the 80s.

“Who cares? The ‘Boss’ himself also ruined your neat hair just now.”

  


That retort from someone in the gathering halted K-223 immediately. “Wait a minute—”

  


His wary hazel eyes swept all over every face he saw there. Not K-433 unless that had be a wicked joke. He also noticed the Antey kids, but with them being SSGNs, it virtually went against what the ‘old boss’ told him. The delegate… had to be an SSBN. And there was no other newer class of SSBN deployed in the Pacific Fleet after his own; the Akula brood and his project’s ‘younger cousins’ — 667BDRM only assigned to the Northern Fleet.

“How? I don’t see any Navaga here! It can’t be… come on, our base has to have some Navaga left — they can’t be all gone!” The one who had been away for six years noted the curious absence of members belonged to a certain project he knew from the 80s. The ‘Navaga’ were those from project 667A.

“Oh? Yeah, there are some of them that survived. But they’re on their last stretch the commanding thought it won’t be wise to assign a delegate they might need to go through the reassignment again so soon.” Explained a unit from K-223’s own ‘ancestral’ project, 667B. A smirking tone in those sentences couldn’t be mistaken there. Then, someone from the back snickered and handed the 667B unit a clipboard.

  


It made sense to him just now.

  


“K-500! Are you, seriously?!”

  


“Should that be how you address a boss, hmmm?” Snickers increased, as the rest of those colleagues who also passed through the period when the current ‘boss’ was a mere regular fleet member just like them anticipated the reactions from the ‘oblivious one’.

“U-understood, sir. Could I make the report on my transfer back to our division right here? Or would you prefer it if I carry out in your office, sir?”

Laughter, whistles and cheers erupted as the baffled tenth squid responded just as they expected. K-500 cocked his eyebrow like a winner, but readily back down to a friendlier approach. “Nah, I’ll give you the first day off. For today, just talk like we did before I got promoted.”

Then he passed the clipboard to another unit. K-223 of course could never forget or confuse because that was K-455 — his direct elder brother who was the fourth in their 667BDR lineage. Together with the fifth, K-490, the three of them in 1980 represented their clan in Kamchatka. So it was nice to know his eldest sibling here also surv—

His train of thoughts was cut short by the instruction from the new ‘boss’.

“I can trust you to write the details of your brother’s journey he’ll be telling you, right?” The older 667B passed the clipboard to K-455 as he spoke.

To answer to the blond’s squid utter clueless look, K-500 nonchalantly dropped ‘another bomb’. “Your brother now serves as a secretary. More precisely, a training for him in case he needs to inherit the boss position should I retire.”

  


Now, now, these were downright too much for him to process in two minutes.

  


* * *

  


  


“Well, well. Look who’s finally here,” a voice greeted K-223 as soon as he stepped through the front door to the dorm. It came from a bunch of androids lounging on a set of sofas. Not exactly sure which unit to look for, he took in the sight of the entire group before finally spotting a familiar face from a distant memory.

“K-441?! No way!!! What… how—” the second unit of the Kalmar clan bore teeth at the stupid question the tenth posed. “Dumbass, I got transferred, of course. You think I hitched a ride from a meteorite?”

Yet one more round of laughter erupted. Just an hour after arriving to his home base, the newly repaired squid felt as if they reduced him from a supposed veteran to a joker by his six years of absence. More accustomed to his next-the-eldest sibling’s sarcastic sense of humor, the Kalmar with dark auburn hair and off-centered nose bridge stepped in to defend the tenth.

“Come on, have mercy on him, please. He didn’t know the situation in Murmansk.”

The mention of ‘something’, likely a change to the first fleet he temporarily stayed with before the transfer caught K-223’s attention. “So what happens there?”

Leaning back to the sofa, K-441 still couldn’t quite cut off the snark in his answer.

“If I’m allowed to be not nice, practically our project has been getting ‘kicked out’ of the Northern Fleet to make room for our young cousins and the Akula clan. It’s not just me here. K-449 also transferred during your repair. He’s out to pick up someone now, will return soon.”

While he did wonder who that ‘someone’ could be, the idea of his siblings being presented in the Pacific Fleet in a higher number than when he left was overwhelming. Now even the second and third were in Kamchatka. “How many… of the Akula units and 667BDRM in total?”

“6 sharks and 7 dwarves—I mean younger cousins.” Under his auburn eyebrows, hazel eyes of the twelfth squid gave disapproval to that joking comparison.

“Dwarves? I’m sure from my conversations on the phone with K-44, he said they are taller than us?” 

...From what he could tell, K-223 was very certain that K-441 was upset to receive instruction to transfer. “K-424 still there?” It would mess up their order so terribly if even the first of the clan came to Kamchatka.

Body language hinted the inquirer the person meant to answer couldn’t care less regarding the name mentioned in question. “Still in Murmansk, yeah. Who would want him to transfer when he could break apart in the middle of the journey?” Whether he did intend to sound harsh, the answer the tenth unit of the Kalmar clan received urged him to drop this topic FAST.

  


With his lower leg, the strangely grumpy second oldest gestured for the recently repaired younger brother to have a seat. Complying readily, the squid with blond hair prepared for an earful expected from K-441.

It was indeed an earful… but not quite in the direction he expected.

“Well, here we are seeing each other again. A fortune, I must say. For you get to say farewell to me instead of me just ‘dying’ away from you in Murmansk.” Wait… of all the topics they chose to chat in their first conversation after a decade, why this??

“You look… healthy enough to me? Why talk about… that?” Protested the younger.

“For now, yes. The signs are emerging, though. And now I got kicked to Kamchatka, meaning this virtually eliminates my chance of visiting home if needed.” Oh right, he understood that much. Thanks to what his first mentor—the eldest of the Murena clan taught him. “And look at how long it took you to be completely repaired. No, not all of us will get the repair in time.”

Harsh truth, this was something the first unit of the project 667B didn’t teach him right out for the fear of confusing him when he hardly had any grasp on the reality of ‘life’. 

The hidden message here was that K-441 would be either ‘abandoned to death’ by disrepair. Or he would later become his younger siblings’ ‘spare parts’, being ‘cannibalized’ to let them exist longer.

“Just four years after my transfer, I have become more of a trash tossed to PF than reinforcement of a combatant that can actually help.” The visibly grumbling second eldest moaned his fate. “You guys here don’t deserve this. Not me who can barely help but more of a burden that weighs you all down.”

  


  


The front door was pushed open, to allow access to two figures standing side by side. Through the opaque glass panel, at first glance it looked like a pair of submarine androids for how the silhouette showed no external line of clothing. One was K-449, the third brother of project 667BDR said to have gone out. The other, as obviously by his uniform which resembled none belonged to the projects he was aware of, must be the person K-449 was sent to pick up.

“Hey, K-441! How are you doing!?” Rapidly closing in, that figure smaller than the squid’s stature by roughly ten centimeters barged into the submarine dorm as if he was no stranger.

Curious scrutinizing only occupied the lone pair of hazel eyes belonging to K-223. All the other submarine androids presented posed no reaction that something was out of ordinary, as if they had long become familiar with this unknown unit. Moreso, when this guest simply arrowed right on the brother he wasn’t aware of joining this fleet during his absence.

From behind the sofa he sat, the only unit still unfamiliar to this visitor felt the soft backrest squeezed as the other much older brother of his leaned over and laid the weight of his torso on forearms just next to him.

The next thing he knew, yet another hand flopped on his shiny hair, giving it another vicious ruffle. From all these ruffles he went through in the span of an hour, how many strands he lost?

  


“Who is he?” While the chatter was still going between K-441 and the smaller guest, K-223 took the chance to ask the escort. 

“Your new friend,” the third Kalmar replied nonchalantly. “Don’t be impatient. Wait for him to introduce himself, you have no idea how much he looked forward to you.”

  


Didn’t matter that he actually received an answer to his question, the words he just registered merely confused him worse. Why would this stranger unit want to see him? A unit that had been absent for six years, and without significant modernization to alter any of his function from the initial design like him should pose little fascination to anyone.

The length of ‘how are you’ conversation dragged on. Of course, in this land it’s unlike in the west where such a phrase is only for politeness. What the blond squid picked up was the concern this compact unit with very dark, near black hair showed to K-441. Without a doubt, they were genuinely friends.

“All right, thanks for your thoughts on my condition, Gavrik. But I assure you I’m not kicking the bucket soon.” Alas, K-441 had to be the one untangled himself from the conversation.

“K-223 is here. That dumb-looking blond one sitting on the sofa right to ours.” Here it came…

  


Although there are a few more units with blond hair lounging around within the common area on the first floor, the visitor from Yelizovo by now knew which pattern on uniform to look for. Hence he wasted no time laying his intense blue eyes on the right android. Yet, the conversation the other three squids anticipated didn’t materialize as soon as they hoped. ‘Gavrik’s enthusiasm faded, replaced by something more akin to tension. To those more familiar to this particular guest, they knew the reason… so readily lent aid to get it going.

“Gavrik, don’t pressure yourself to get to the point.” Now seeing even K-433 was in a close term with the small one sitting with K-441, the newly returnee couldn’t help but felt even more out of place.

“Hey, listen, shiny head,” was that his new nickname? K-223 kept his face straight when K-449 whispered that peculiar title next to his ear. “He visited us several occasions before during your repair. It makes sense he’s on friendly terms with us. Don’t feel left out. He wants to see you because of… something… that he requested us to give him a phone call when you return.”

Then in a slightly louder voice, he mentioned another vital information, “How did he come to us? Well, he’s a stray MiG K-441 picked up.”

In quick success, that last phrase grabbed the attention from the owner of the uniform which clearly wasn’t designed to work in underwater tasks. “Come on, I’m not a kitten!”

  


MiG… he wasn’t exactly certain of that term; he was aware it was related to planes, but? Was it a term just like SSBN, SSGN, SSN… and so on in the submarine sphere?

  


No time to ponder, as the one next to his ailing brother already leaned over to initiate conversation. “Please accept my apologies for intruding. My name is Gavriil, I’m an android MiG-31 fighter jet from Yelizovo.” Of course, Yelizovo… how many air bases were there on Kamchatka, anyway?

Even though he thought the shift of expression on his face upon hearing that name should be undetectable, he was soon proven wrong.

“Kid, your face will flippin’ scare a bear cub right now.” Interjected K-441 to raise awareness to K-223 himself.

Their conversation hit a snag that soon. Gavriil was nervous to continue; he did hear this tenth unit of the Kalmar clan had it worst being overloaded by fear for the auburn-haired unit presented, who got caught in the escalating situation amidst his transfer.

Once again, the caring squid who was the main reason for his brother’s solid hatred of the neighboring air base must intervene to help the conversation stay afloat.

“Be reasonable, please. Gavriil only deployed in Yelizovo in 1989. He had no part in the mess back then.”

Under a stuttering, in contrast to his outward appearance which resembled a confident young man, the MiG hesitantly explained his further intention. “I — I learned of how my base failed the Navy back in 1983. And… despite i—it wasn’t something… I can directly take re—responsibility for, I wish to a—apologize to you, K-223.”

  


Silence prevailed, as the unit with blond hair took time to contemplate reasoning. It would be wrong to lash his years of wrath onto this innocent unit in front of him. Yet, the apologies had no meaning than symbolic, for Gavriil neither had responsibility for it nor could undo the incident. But would he only dwell in the past? Here, presenting right in front of him without having to move a step out of his own base, was the opportunity for cooperation which might prevent the mistake from repeating itself.

Still, that also depended on the humans of Yelizovo. Didn’t the error last time have absolutely nothing to do with his fellow androids but aircraft type there?

“I don’t think this is right, Gavriil. Yes, I was beyond mad. Still am nowadays, but… I don’t quite associate aircraft androids there with the failure. It was humans. Unless you’ll tell me androids there also take the tasks of monitoring radar and carry out repair work for radar equipment?” In response, the owner of that name mentioned nodded repeatedly.

“So…?” The younger aircraft unit realized he probably sounded like an idiot. K-223’s answer was unclear at best.

“I think the best way you can earn my trust will be… making sure such failure is never going to happen again. Verbal apologies mean nothing to me. It can’t fix anything. And you also don’t owe me anything just because you’re assigned to Yelizovo.”

Seizing the opening, K-441 also lent help to usher the conversation to a smoother approach, “Yeah, that’s pretty much what we agreed among ourselves when you were gone. Good that you see it the same way.”

Jumping in also, K-433 added his two cents, making the only one absent from the MiG-31’s initial visit frowned since it felt as if he was framed for something. “Gavriil also planned to do just as you requested. He told us that much since 1989.”

“I see,” what with their unusual, as if protective instinct, toward this aircraft unit? He never expected them to gain a new friend, from a different branch of armed forces even, behind his back.

“Please, give me the chance to prove myself,” pleaded the visitor. “I will do what it takes to protect the navy’s androids from now on. I’m going to personally see to it.”

To the submarines, they understood Gavriil’s personality is dominated by confidence. But in this case, wasn’t it too much? How could he be so certain the human personnel at his base would cooperate and make it happen? Except K-223, everyone else now aware of their guest’s tendency to be hostile toward humans. And it only worried them worse by how focused Gavriil was to prove himself.

“Sorry, Gavrik. Just… don’t tell me you’re going to use force to coerce humans in Yelizovo to do your bidding.” K-449 cautioned.

“Nah, I have a better plan.” Again, his high confidence never faded as he was grinning. The MiG-31 then relayed his strategy. “I’m soon becoming commander of the androids in Yelizovo, anyway. Say, K-500 or even your flagship can give orders to some low-ranked humans, right? I’m going to scrutinize the radar operators every day. So they realize if they fuck up, they have me to answer to.”

Well, they half expected the last part. But the becoming commander clause? That was something new.

“Wait — you??? Becoming a commander in Yelizovo?”

Realizing even the oldest unit within the Kalmar clan didn’t have the knowledge of how the internal structure of aircraft hierarchy worked only added more smugness to Gavriil. “Yesssss, surprise, my friend?”

“But—like, for planes you’re a front-line fighter, aren’t you, Gavriil?” Another unit outside of the ‘squids’ who lingered around to snoop the conversation butted in. “So… the non-combatant guys are not the boss there?”

“Well, nope. Aircraft hierarchy is different. Hate to say this but my non-combatant guys are much less of a strategist unlike SSBNs. They only work in the background. Hell, their speed isn’t that great, they’ll face serious problems with anti-air missiles.” Expressions on the half dozen units of submarine type around indicated they needed time to digest all that information.

“Alright, so they don’t do well in battle. Still, if they sit in the base and monitor everything from the radar screen, shouldn’t that provide them a wider picture of the situation?”

“Like I said, they can relay information, sure. The thing is, they have no idea how to fight—thus coming with strategies will be unrealistic.” His blue eyes swept the area for seconds. “Um… since most of you here are nuclear-powered, I guess mentioning the oiler units might be a little hard to connect. My point is, the oil tanker units are part of the navy, yes, but do you ever expect them to directly join in a naval battle—in a combatant role, not a support role? Doing so is more like sending them straight to death with little ability to do anything.”

“You hang out with us too much, aircraft,” mocked the first submarine to ever come into contact with this MiG-31. Though with several visits, Gavriil already learned enough regarding K-441 he could easily catch the playful tone.

Of course, the smug vibe returned on the sole unit who couldn’t swim. “I did well, right?”

No one would argue. It was impressive for an aircraft unit to talk about naval battles. Instead, the oldest Kalmar’s hand pushed the non-navy unit’s back. “I guess we better send you back to your base before you want to get even closer to us by asking if we can teach you to swim. Go now, we won’t teach you. Period.”

That was an unexpected twist of events. The smug look on Gavriil’s face drained fast as stifled laughter from androids who not only could swim but even dive below the surface echoed inside the foyer.

“You can’t do this to me!” whined the guest whose allowed visit time ran out.

“Yes, I CAN do this to you,” trolled K-441 with a straight face. 

Shifting his sight to his younger siblings, he dished out more orders, “K-433 and shiny head, go accompany him to the checkpoint. You tell him the rules during the walk. Come on, Gavrik. We don’t want you to overstay and repeat the feat when you visited for the first time, okay?”

Though questioning that ‘overstay’ bit, K-223 had no objection in complying to his locally eldest brother’s wish. He stood waiting, as the MiG bade K-441 goodbye and being particularly attentive to his declining condition. It was nice to see him at least gained a new friend here, knowing how many he probably lost in the face of getting transferred; he himself lost some, too, especially the eldest Murena. Soon, Gavriil walked over to join him. K-433 trailed after them as they passed through the door and closed it behind.

  


Right away, their conversation picked up around the history of Gavriil’s visit. Then, unavoidably his hostility toward humans.

“Um, sure. I may not understand your feeling well, but I can see where you come from.”

The auburn-haired squid glanced at his brother’s reaction. Most of the androids would agree in the same views as they had never been treated terribly in their early days. Gavriil’s personal experience with humans was exceptional.

“What happened after your first visit? As K-433 said, you were forced back by password?” The small android looked embarrassed.

“It looked like my own ignorant higher-ups finally saw the merit of my ‘rogue’ action. But again, it was a huge thanking on your base’s commanding level—they convinced them forging a closer cooperation between our bases was something they should give a serious consideration to.” Turning his head westward, Gavriil took in the sight of the lonely beach as they walked through the depleting settlement back to the checkpoint. “I’m allowed to visit without needing to make a break out of Yelizovo now. Just need my humans to set up an appointment.”

To his surprise, he received a light pat on his back from the unit who went to see him off on his first visit. “I guess I can say it ends well? Though I admit I don’t know what happened to you once you were back to your base…”

“A number of disciplines, and a few years of delay in my appointment as commander.” A soft ‘awww’ emitted from the squid brothers.

Their conversation went discontinued for a couple of dozen steps when K-223 took the next lead. 

“I know my critical words are probably uncalled for. Gavriil, I think it’s unwise for you to be constantly at odds with humans.”

“What are you saying?!” hissed the younger submarine who had known their MiG acquaintance longer. He saw no need for that criticism. The blond squid quietly shot him a look that said ‘hush!’. To prevent the issue from deteriorating far too quickly, K-223 followed up by his explanation.

“You told me, told us here you’d do your best to protect us,” his tone tuned to a softer stance. “Then don’t risk yourself for early retirement. And by retirement, I mean… having your existence cancelled for your aggression on humans. Humans may be weaker than us physically, they still have a triumph card over us nonetheless.”

Now he saw where this was going, K-433 willingly shut up and let the less familiar unit to their guest handle it.

“I’m reluctant to accept your friendship, Gavriil. Not because of my anger toward your base, but if I’m to be your friend—I wish for us to go long together, years into the future. I feel everything you offered to me back in the dorm would be pointless if you still insist on…” His serious voice got lost as he considered what word to use.

  


“What I see as self-sabotage behaviour.”

  


Effectively, that choice of word delivered a blow to the hardheaded MiG as intended. No argument, no resistance. The sole aircraft unit contemplated the opinion given thoroughly.

“So… that’s how you see it?”

“I understand your bitter attitude toward humans. Having such thought and acting it out is completely different. Therefore, I’m asking you here. Can you refrain from physical aggression on humans? Not for their safety, look at it as for us to prolong our friendship as far as possible.”

Not more than two hundreds meters away from the checkpoint location. Drawing his decision quickly, Gavriil reluctantly conceded.

“Got it. I’ll do as you suggest.”

His shoulders then felt the weight as K-223 put his arm around them then leaned his torso over. “Very well, take care until the next time we meet then, my friend.”

  


As the trio reached the checkpoint, they got several curious gazes their way, which Gavriil effortlessly ignored them all. Pushing his way through the physical barrier blocking the path as the pair belonged to Vilyuchinsk ceased their advance, the unit alien to most of the guardsmen in marine uniform took the last, brief glance at his two friends then jogged down the side of the empty regional road. Just less than 50 meters down, his speed picked up. And in awe along with the new men on guard duty, K-223 watched the figure in dark gray form-fitting tops and gray trousers darted at an unbelievable speed. His gradually smaller frame faded away in less than a minute.

“Funny he should return with you, K-223. Don’t you just return today?” Greeted a veteran personnel whose insignia on shoulders indicate his rank as a lieutenant.

“I think precisely he dropped by today because of that,” the hazel eyes under blond eyebrows shifted to his sibling. “You best ask him? He probably planned it along with my other brothers.”

Made no attempt to reject that suspicion, the unit which everyone in Kamchatka always recalled him by his disfigured nose elaborated. “That’s correct. It’ll be useful to introduce Gavriil to him. Since he just passed a repair… he should stay around a long time. Not only can he cover for you while I’m away, I’m afraid in coming years, we may lose even more of my older brothers and other colleagues.”

“So you’re the one going for repair next?” He received a nod from the head covered in auburn hair. “Man, as if losing the human population isn’t disheartening enough. This area is becoming more and more deserted.”

The androids’ visual sensory moved back to the road before them. Crashing economy forced people to abandon traveling due to the rising price of petrol. Vehicles rarely passed through the nearby junction anymore, if any at all. Manning the checkpoint at the gate to this submarine base resembled being sent into confinement of never-ending boredom than the risky duty it used to be.

And when would it end? Neither the androids nor humans have any sound estimate.

  


* * *


	27. The Unholy Yuriy

  


  


Since Kosek had relocated to the Northern Fleet, the tradition of sending the aircraft android to assist the newcomer in the last stretch of their first journey to Vladivostok also discontinued. At this time… the majority of positive waves among androids to welcome new members mainly occurred on the Kamchatka Peninsula. A recent project of nuclear-powered submarine androids were being gradually delivered to the base inside the Avacha Bay. Project 949A ‘Antey’, meant to be the main muscles to protect the task force, no matter on the surface or underwater.

Yet, the number of newcomers could do nothing to weigh out the rapid loss of older units.

After spending seven years in Bolshoy Kamen for his mid-life repair, K-223 returned to the Pacific with an immense shock.

Not only he found the old ‘boss’ who led their base during the grave moment of immediate tension after the incident in September 1983 already retired, he found more of his own siblings whom he never expected to see in Kamchatka, having transferred from the Northern Fleet where he first met them over a decade ago.

Though, K-223’s return also signified a certain thing; now it was time for K-433 to head to Vladivostok area for his own mid-life repair.

  


“Well, K-433 will arrive next year?” The black-haired Orlan was on the phone, calling the ‘blond squid’ in Kamchatka. 

“Yep, let’s just… hope his repair will go smoothly. It took seven years for me, even longer than the entire time I had been active in our fleet until then, to get my repair completed.” Upon his return, the ‘landscape’ of the division K-223 belonged to shifted so much it seemed unlike the base he spent his existence in before. Hence, it made sense the recently returned submarine feared for the brother he was protective of.

“I don’t know how I should feel about these Antey kids,” referred the older generation who also originated from the same shipyard as the new clan of nuclear-powered submarines. “Sure, they’re an impressive addition to our base. But what’s the point? The senior units they made connections with be randomly pulled out and ‘die’ it’s like they are trying a futile goal.”

At the time K-223 returned to his home base in Kamchatka, only three units of the project 949A had arrived so far. How many they would ultimately receive also depended on how many Sevmash had the capability, both financial and physical labor, to produce.

  


  


A wind of change had slowly caressed this corner of what was once part of the USSR. Minya himself was no longer Frunze. That name belonged to a person ‘deemed idealistically undesirable’ got pushed out, swept under the carpet to embrace the new direction Russia aimed to present itself in the international view. Slowly a series of changes to the names of several subjected took over. The old, Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy-50 base reigned by the troops of nuclear-powered submarine androids serving the Pacific Fleet received a new name as ‘Vilyuchinsk’. So as all the members of project 1144 Orlan.

  


Kirov rid himself of the revolutionary leader’s name, instead now bearing the name of Fyodor Ushakov. An outstanding Admiral in the era of Russian Empire and a revered saint in the Navy.

The second, lone Orlan in the Far East shed ‘Frunze’, becoming Lazarev. As luck had it, his alternative name by chance have the same first name ‘Mikhail’ as the old one, hence he got to keep his diminutive ‘Minya’ as if they made no change. Also, Lazarev, just like Ushakov, belonged to a famous admiral in the imperial era - except Minya’s namesake specifically led the fleet he served now.

Kalinin shifted to ‘Admiral Nakhimov’, again yet another important figure of Russian naval history. With this change, the ‘two Mikhails’ trouble in the project 1144 decisively solved - the third Orlan now switched his diminutive to ‘Pashulya’.

Even their youngest, the unfinished fourth who stuck in their home shipyard wasn’t overlooked. Yuriy Andropov gained the name Pyotr Velikiy - a big step way ahead all of his own brothers.

  


However, the wave of change ignored Chervona Ukrayna, who probably looked forward to a new name the most…

  


Among the new, quieter wave of reinforcement for the weakening naval force by the Pacific were the small-sized project 877 Paltus submarines. All of hailed from Komsomolsk-na-Amure, the major shipbuilding facility in the Far East. These conventional fuel-powered units didn’t base in Kamchatka like most of their bigger, nuclear-powered counterpart. Instead, their specific base located in a small cove not too far from the entrance to the Golden Horn Bay. Still, that was within walking distance. Thus they occasionally popped into the principal base to hang out with the surface ship colleagues when their off-duty time coincided.

Minsk, however, was clearly in the last stretch of his willful persistence to hold his fleet together.

Despite his responsibility as flagship, it had been proposed he now would sporadically enter ‘sleep’. Not exactly to conserve his fuel, but more appropriately ‘to prolong the condition of his structure and components, making them last as long as possible’. And whenever that procedure occurred, Novorossiysk stepped up to hold the reign in place of him.

One day, all too soon, this change would become permanent, even Chervona Ukrayna knew that much…

When summer arrived, three months after the tragedy robbed them of Zakharov, there was a piece of information passed to them from the fleet at another end of Russia. In Baltiysk, where the youngest member of the project 1155 still stayed. Panteleyev at last passed the commissioning milestone in May. But then… his transition didn’t come fast enough.

The detail was still unclear, but some situation materialized when the commanding in Baltiysk tried to send him on his supposed transition journey. Extended stay was granted, leaving the four older Fregat units puzzling.

Turned out, they had to wait for nearly half a year before it finally happened.

  


* * *

  


  


“Transition task force reporting, sir. This is BDK-11, we should arrive to the base in roughly an hour.”

  


Crisp, frigid December air descended around the Far East yet again by the time the transition of Panteleyev soon come to an end. For this time, another unit, a non-direct combative whose chief duty is to coordinate with marine force in the landing strategy, was the one handling the incoming contact with their new base.

Due to the lack of aircraft unit to make direct contact on the flagship’s behalf, radio contact made from communication division was overseen by Novorossiysk himself.

“Good day, BDK-11. This is Novorossiysk,” even though the overall situation was rather depressing, he kept his tone warm and positive. “How has your journey been far? I can assure you that both your and Panteleyev’s brothers are in high-spirit to welcome you into our fleet.”

“R-rather smooth if I’d say, sir.” Without the awareness from the fleet commanding side, BDK-11 could sense a dagger glare cast his way, from no other but his transition companion.

Were they informed of the genuine reason behind the delay yet? The unit whose home shipyard was, unlike most of his fleetmates, located in Poland suffered a ‘wordless, communication-less’ journey up to this point. All thanks to the commanding level in Baltiysk to make this voyage possible… but after that? Yes… his primary fear was for this unpredictable ‘after’ period.

“Sir, could I… report and request some preparation on your end?”

“Yes, you may. What do we need to know?” replied from the shore.

Stealing a quick glance at his traveling partner, the android in black marine uniform, similar to ones worn by the Sarych clan, didn’t doubt if the ‘password’ wasn’t in effect… he himself may be in danger from some of the weapons Panteleyev carried.

  


“Panteleyev is traveling on ‘the password’, sir.”

  


That term… was anything but ordinary, and Novorossiysk immediately got on high alert. “Understood. I’ll contact the higher-ups who have access to the knowledge of his password right afterward. What else should we know?”

“Preparing his siblings to intercept the situation if needed should be great, sir.” Uncertainty still prevailed in the voice from supporting unit who wouldn’t be the forefront to confront naval battle. “As many as possible. I hope they… may be able to lend help.”

“Will do,” affirmed the acting flagship.

“Thank you, sir. And I’m so sorry I can’t be much of a help…” Despite having no opening to join in the ongoing conversation, the newest Fregat unit kept his intense glare on his transition companion. From what he could maximize his hearing sensory trying to make some understanding of the upcoming situation, looked like his ‘partner’ got his escape possibility trampled down to zero. Unless he would make a break for it utilizing his armaments…

Would it be wise to make an enemy out of this loathsome fleet to escape back to Kaliningrad?

  


He predicted the control forced on him from the ‘password’ would wear out when he arrived… apparently, not quite. Hence he had no choice but to let the tugboat units assisted him to the pier. From there he automatically, literally, took off the footing equipment, followed his traveling partner to present themselves to the fleet members - both humans and non-humans, leaving the introduction task to BDK-11 because the darn password wouldn’t give him authorization to open his mouth just yet. None of those presented there really worth his attention. He didn’t plan to be their colleague. He would definitely find a way to go back to the Baltic Fleet in Kaliningrad…

On the opposite end of the introduction of those two new members to the Pacific Fleet were the older members of project 1155, all four of them. On hearing the peculiar condition applied to their youngest, even Shaposhnikov dropped his interest to incite Tributs into trouble regarding their usual discord. This wasn’t time for it.

In coordinance, those four pairs of gray eyes, the identical shade to another pair on Panteleyev, fixated on that frame so similar to their own. 176 centimeters tall, roughly 600 kilograms in weight… crisp white officer uniform shirt with contrast black trousers. The only thing that put this newest unit apart from them was his floppy, tree bark brown hair. And then, there was that deep vengeful vibe radiated from him.

Exactly what on earth pushed their youngest into this? To have the ‘password’ function triggered just to complete his transfer.

“Guys,” called Novorossiysk toward the ‘frigate bird’ clan once BDK-11 concluded the report of their journey and introduction. “Take your youngest to the storage bay. All four of you. Look after him closely. I’ll follow soon, I need a few more details for BDK-11.”

“Understood.” Spiridonov answered for his brood, slowly stepping to the unit who made no sound in terms of communication since he landed to this Far East land.

A flash of hostility rose through what facial expression Panteleyev could muster outside of the restriction by the password. Yet, he couldn’t force his body to comply to what free will he still had little control of. With a disgruntled look firmly stuck on his youthful face, the sixth Fregat, who found himself to be the fifth right now, was unable to halt his legs from cooperating with the guidance his older siblings led him to the place ordered by the temporary flagship.

  


“What reason do you think they need to use password on him?”

  


Hating silence prevailing over their short walk to the storage bay inside the HQ building, the sole ‘non-Kaliningrad’ unit attempted to disperse that unusual atmosphere. Welcoming a new sibling meant to be a celebration, a joyful event they looked forward to after the tragedy of how they lost Zakharov.

“Shouldn’t we listen from his own words?” Vinogradov, as always, was cautious.

Em, who now reigned as the eldest brother among them, butted in. “He may not want to talk about it. Can we focus on something other than that for today?”

In his silent stance, Panteleyev took notes of the conversation around him. Whatever, they might be his siblings, but he didn’t care to stay around them for long. In his circumstance here, ‘siblings’ were nothing more than a bigger, stronger rope the commanding level would expect to provide assistance in tying him down to this fleet. So to his eyes at this moment, these four were the ones he needed to watch out for the most.

  


All too soon, but it felt like an excruciating long journey to the newest addition of the project 1155 in the Pacific, they reached the underground floor where the androids all stashed their own battle equipment and armaments away to walk ‘free’ in daily, off-mission life.

“Here, his slot is right next to Nikolka’s,” pointed Spiridonov. As his focus was preoccupied by the wait for the exact time when he would be ‘freed’, Panteleyev plainly ignored to take in details - hence completely missed the slot with the name ‘Zakharov’ on it. None of the other four wanted to say anything about it either. All four pairs of arms reached over from all directions surrounding the youngest unit of the family, but soon Shaposhnikov got into his usual form and hissed at Tributs to keep his hands away.

Piece after piece of equipment and armaments lifted off his bodily frame. Outside, through the door to the storage area they left ajar, their hearing sensory registered approaching footsteps. One of their own signature weight - must be Novorossiysk. Another much fainter, but still easily audible, of the usual human’s weight.

With no consistency, pairs of gray eyes stole a glance that way one by one. All but one recognized the figure accompanied by the temporary flagship.

Halting their steps just in the front, the pair wished to observe the interactions between supposed siblings firstly. This would determine whether they could be of assistance with the situation at hands. Novorossiysk stood in an angle that partially blocked the admiral, for the gray eyes belonged to the sixth Fregat flared up with distrust. 

He didn’t want to do it. He knew how much his Fregat comrades already worried about this new addition owing to his delayed deployment.

But if it concerned the admiral being assaulted, he would tussle with Panteleyev without hesitation.

  


“Once you finish with removing your brother’s equipment and armaments, form two rows with the four of you.” Instructed the human with authority. “Make sure to completely block the storage.”

  


Such an order didn’t make much sense… or more precisely, the four older units rather not believing it was what they initially perceived. Task completed, and Spiridonov, Shaposhnikov, Tributs and Vinogradov lined up in two rows in accordance with their human commander’s wish. That formation left Panteleyev standing a distance away from the rest of his clan. Blocking the sole passage to the outside was the third unit of the project 1143.

  


“Welcome to Vladivostok and Pacific Fleet, Panteleyev. We hope you’ll enjoy it here.”

  


On another ordinary day of welcoming a new android to the base, such a speech seemed appropriate enough. To Panteleyev, though, it was downright taunting. A laugh right in his face. His anger only shot up by several folds to realize that… that phrase was precisely the keyword which marked the end to his loss of control by the password.

Gradually the sensation as if he was paralyzing — that only his inorganic brain, eyes and hearing sensory were the only parts still under his conscious since leaving Baltiysk — lifted off of his entire body. Being under password control was the most nuisance. Everything he went through his acknowledgement, yet there was no way he could interfere or refuse the actions. Remaining with his reproachful look, Panteleyev sent a command for the components shaping the lower half of his face. Right, his jaws clenched just as he intended to. Alas, he was free… though possibly in the worst circumstance for his idea of escape.

Ignoring the presence of his own brood entirely, Panteleyev responded to the admiral.

“I… don’t plan to.”

Clear, youthful male voice finally graced the hearing sensory of the waiting older Fregat units. Yet the message, materializing with contempt, drew attention from them at once.

The aged human wasn’t in a rush to spare words with the problematic unit. More evaluation needed, especially how the more obedient Fregat units could be of help use their sibling tie. “Go ahead, greet Panteleyev. You all had waited for him.”

  


Struggle ensued among the older quartet. The tense and distrustful demeanor from their youngest couldn’t be missed. Then all of them had something to say… but each reluctant to speak up. Who should do it first? Logically it should be Em who now reigned as the eldest - only, he really hated to be the one explaining Panteleyev about Zakharov. Would the unit with medium brown hair ask? Could he skip it on this occasion?

“Nikolka, go on. Say hi to your first younger brother.” 

With that, Spiridonov shoved the responsibility off his shoulders. At least to buy him some time… before he needed to relive the fresh wound in their family.

First the pair of gentle gray eyes went to his current oldest sibling, then slipped to the other two. Neither side of the warring belligerents in ‘Lineage War’ signaled objection. From behind Tributs, the former ‘youngest’ shifted his position to see his long-awaited junior in a clearer view, allowing the grudging unit to understand who was talking to him.

“Yuriy, I’m glad you’re here. My name is Admiral Vinogradov, the previous to arrive before you. Please tell me what can we do to help you?”

The word ‘help’ looked to calm Panteleyev of his agitated state a little. Just very little. He didn’t trust one bit his older siblings would truly assist him on what he wished for. At least, the gentle approach Vinogradov chose lifted up the newest Fregat’s exhausting system from the intensity of battles he had had so far in his attempt to delay the transfer. Curiously, the lone mortal entity kept his silence. 

“Look, I’m… it’s nice to meet you, brother. But aren’t the four of you enough for this fleet? Help me convince them to let me go back to Kaliningrad! The Baltic Fleet, our HOME in particular, needs more strength!!!”

The fact ‘our home’ referred to Kaliningrad made Tributs wince, for his wasn’t. Unfortunately, Panteleyev interpreted it as a sign of disapproval to his reasoning.

“You must know what situation Kaliningrad is in right now. Yet you prefer to do NOTHING!? Why is this far, foreign region more important! Our home is in danger!!!”

His volume escalated to a full shouting. No more reserved manner or the trusting in his own siblings. Panteleyev expected this. This was his fight alone. Distrustful gray eyes swept over the older brothers one by one, before whipping across the room to the two figures obstructing the doorway. The target of his fury was the taller frame in a white uniform.

“You introduced yourself as the ‘flagship’ out there. If I recall, the flagship of the Pacific Fleet is from project 1143… so, tell me. Don’t you ever regret being here and now, your home region broke away — seized by the rebel against the power of Moscow? Let me tell you I won’t let the same thing happen to my Kaliningrad! Doesn’t matter if it’s Lithuania trying to expand their territory or Poland taking advantage of the confusion!”

Humans would have struggled to bring out such a lengthy speech in one go. For an android like Panteleyev though, he ‘composed’ the elaborated speech in his system during the period he was kept silent by the password. And when his speaking capability returned, just pulled it from his databank.

Without a doubt, those tirades and accusations thrown at their respected superior were uncalled for in the eyes of veteran Fregat units. While Novorossiysk himself stood calmly against them, the one who took most pride in being born in Kaliningrad found this action shameful beyond tolerable. To the horror of the other three and to the quiet observance of the admiral and temporary flagship, Shaposhnikov voiced his opinion on the matter.

“Yuriy. This is nonsense. I also highly revere our hometown, but this is NOT how it should be. Instead, you’re making yourself, and our ‘lineage’ look disgraceful.”

Even though delivered with a composed tone, the message was more than enough to make the youngest lash back.

“Disgrace!? Ho, how right… ahahaha!” A slight pause after that forced laughter, then Panteleyev exploded with no more suppression. “No one is more of a disgrace than those willingly abandoned their home! Fine. If that’s how you think! I hereby cut myself off from the family in Pacific Fleet! None of you are my brothers!”

Shock went across the faces of the ‘local’ Fregat. The admiral took the chance when the unruly newest unit’s attention went off his direction, whispering instructions to Novorossiysk.

  


Time was up. The old admiral felt he had gathered enough clues on factors for the direction he’d take on Panteleyev.

  


From behind, the furious Fregat found himself knocked down flat on the cold concrete floor before his inorganic brain could register what happened. On top of him was an incredible weight of over a ton. Under a normal condition he could lift off such a weight with his enhanced strength… except this one time the source of that weight pressed him down with more power than Panteleyev could fight off. It was Novorossiysk pinning him down.

“You guys, get out quick. Shut the door behind you, too. Unfortunately, it looks like I have to use the password on your brother again…” Resigned the admiral.

None of the quartet planned to protest. Though deep down they worried for their current flagship. Obviously it was impossible for the admiral to be in the same space as Panteleyev without danger. He needed another android to protect him. They couldn’t predict the likelihood in the future, but as of now Novorossiysk would have to take ‘the risk’.

The four rushed out of the storage space, shutting the door behind them as instructed. Whether they were permitted to venture away, all of them stay put to the corridor nearby, hoping to learn the outcome of what would happen to their latest sibling.

  


It didn’t take long. Soon the metallic door moved again to reveal Panteleyev in an almost trance state. Only his eyes retained the autonomy by the android himself as they shifted to take a quick glance at the other four of his kind. With no one accompanying, he headed along the hallway — to the direction of the flagship office.

“What… what will be the condition he needs to fulfill so the password ceases its control this time?” Voiced Spiridonov with grave concern.

They knew about the password control, despite never having it utilized on any of them. To see their youngest being forced to behave through password repeatedly like this… would it affect Panteleyev’s system one way or another?

“Sleep for a week,” emerged the admiral with his answer.

“Sir? But… he’s heading to the flagship office? Not the dorm?” Asked the one who made the situation worse just minutes ago. Yet the admiral didn’t blame Shaposhnikov.

Which the androids’ superior with graying hair explained, “He will wait there for a bit. Then Novorossiysk will take him away. We… need an additional room for Panteleyev alone, I’m afraid. So it’s easier to monitor him.” His tiring light brown eyes gazed at the only project 1155 unit who roomed alone since they lost the eldest Fregat back in February. “I hope you understand, Shaposhnikov. I know how you look forward to rooming with him.”

“Yes, sir. Please be assured my desire is in no way more important than your order.”

This was why even with the full five years of childish quarrels with Tributs, password was never needed to be used on him. Shaposhnikov took orders from humans with utmost seriousness.

  


Out in the shadow of the enclosed space behind the door, they noticed Novorossiysk lingered inside, not even bringing himself to the corridor.

“The Admiral said you will handle him? Before anything, Novorossiysk. I’m terribly sorry for the hurtful and thoughtless babble Panteleyev accused you. That was… cruel.” Taking his responsibility as the head of the Fregat clan, Spiridonov bowed his head for the tantrum the youngest addition made. The unit with the same hair color as Vinogradov’s but taller and sturdier let it go readily. “Nah, don’t worry about it, Em.”

It was out of the Fregats’ guess how much the independence of Ukraine bothered the younger ‘gyrfalcon’. The true level of it he suppressed inside. They saw how it wrecked their Atlant’s morale, and it was certainly not a joking matter.

“Now, if you will excuse us?” cautioned the admiral. “I need to trigger Novorossiysk’s password in accordance with the protocol. You are free to venture away.”

Right, even if he was the major factor in helping the commanding level administrate authority over all androids in the fleet, Novorossiysk wasn’t permitted to gain the knowledge of other androids’ password. Thus by the ‘protocol’, the temporary flagship must permanently erase the memory of that exact moment he heard Panteleyev’s password.

“Yes, sir. We’ll be right out. Novorossiysk, thank you… for going through these troubles. We will try our best to correct Panteleyev”s behaviour."

  


Footsteps from four pairs of feet drew farther toward the exit from the HQ building. That heavy metallic door also shut behind them — to make sure no one would accidentally hear Novorossiysk’s own password thus complicated the matter. At last, when they all emerged outside again, their mood was even more solemn than the quietly curious attitude they went in with.

“Suddenly… I never appreciate you this much, Boryushka.”

Even the one who had had a headache ever since the owner of that diminutive made the wrongly memorable entrance felt the need to vent at the fresh problem thrown into their clan. Spiridonov assessed the ‘Lineage War’ as of secondary importance right now. Panteleyev’s attitude posed a much worse issue.

“Nikolka, are you okay?” Tributs’ foremost concern was at the light brown-haired unit. Vinogradov looked forward to his first younger brother. But now… the hope of ‘normal’ sibling bonding was dimming.

Every other pair of identical gray eyes zeroed on their former youngest. All displayed solicitude.

But Shaposhnikov’s arm was quick to encircle his perturbed younger brother. “We’ll figure this out together how to make him settle down. It’s not your sole duty. Don’t overwork your system.” Then, against his usual pride, the until-now fiery Fregat admitted it might be wise to ask for help from a certain unit who posed as his objector so often.

“Minya might know a thing or two how to deal with the runaway idea. He halted Chervona Ukrayna when Ukraine declared independence, didn’t he?”

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** So here it is, Yurka's 'grand' disastrous introduction into his fleet. And this is just the start of it - he was disliked by the majority of the fleet for a good reason which will be demonstrated in the near future chapter.


	28. Strategies

  


  


“That’s… unbelievable.”

  


At the end of wit for something he didn’t witness for himself, Lazarev only offered those two words in response to the ordeal the ‘frigatebird’ clan brought to him. He was also presented at the first scene when Panteleyev and BDK-11 made their first appearance. Without fail, noticed the strained expression on the youngest Fregat, and how his transition partner monopolized the introduction.

For the sake of privacy, the five of them piled in Em and Vovka’s shared room. The same room Bystryy painfully notified the brothers of Zakharov’s fate ten months earlier. Bystryy wasn’t yet informed of the full development either; the Leningradskiy Fregat planned to let his Sarych surrogate brothers known after consulting with Lazarev.

“Yeah, it would be best they understand the plight quickly. Being a partner project to you guys, who knows when one of them will get sent out with Panteleyev.” Affirmed the Orlan of similar thought.

Another worrying idea weighed down Spiridonov, though. “I don’t know, Minya. I’m afraid one day you might have to be the one to subdue him… in order for the human commander to set off the password control on him”.

“If it happens, it happens,” the unit said to be the strongest in the term of offensive power shrugged it off.

“But… do you think… can we handle that task by ourselves?” Inquired Vinogradov, one never knew when the circumstance might call for it. To protect the human commanders in case Panteleyev’s hostility aimed at them, even smaller units would jump in to be the wall. Novorossiysk handled that task with ease. But it was because he was among the largest available in the fleet. What outcome could be if Panteleyev and the one trying to overpower him had every single quality in the same level?

  


No prompt reply this time. Lazarev’s inky black eyebrows above the mirror gray eyes to those of the smaller frames around him hinted at the difficulty of the analyzing process. Indeed, the physical struggle between two Fregat units of the same size could go both ways.

“I want to suggest we put that into a test by… having Vovka and Boryushka go full blown at each other.”

Almost immediately, those hands under white gloves waved at the incredulous look he had been given. “I know, guys. Maybe it’s an awful idea. Miki would never forgive me when he comes back and knows I suggest such a thing.”

“So he’ll be sleeping for a week…” Em mused audibly. “In the meantime, what preparation do we have to make? Warn others?”

Of course, they needed to warn others, not just the Sarych clan in fact.

“Request a presence of human personnel with the knowledge of password?” Now that might be something unusual, and likely required the input and coordination from the fleet’s commanding level.

Leaning his back to the door as his frame was far heavier beyond the furniture assigned for the more-compact Fregat physique, ‘everybody’s best friend’ of the eastern fleet mulled over another condition. There was a particular one he wasn’t sure whether to request his assistance if necessary. Or… keep him away from the unpleasant interactions with Panteleyev to protect his weary mental strength.

  


“Roska is a cruiser type. He may not be much bigger than you all, but… at least he has a weight advantage? We need all we can recruit.”

  


This time, Shaposhnikov was quick to interject. “Forget him. He can’t do it. I never see him stand up against anyone, minus that one time when he went out of control because of the independence of Ukraine. He won’t do. Panteleyev may even win in their tussle.”

“Yeah… I worry about that as well,” this was one of the rare times when Lazarev readily gave up.

“Not only his state of mind which constantly worries about his eldest brother will wear him down, the fact that-“ Tributs found it disheartening it forced him to pause. How could one unit go through so much in a little over a year? “We don’t know enough if Panteleyev may remind him of his own younger brother, whose fate is about as murky as Slava right now. And then, Yuriy’s explosive mouth, which spits false speculations regarding the territorial troubles like a wildfire.”

No one was going to doubt that. The showdown in the armaments storage bay already proved it.

“I vote to keep Roska away from this entire mess. He deserves some peace of mind.” The eldest surviving Fregat supported the reasoning, happy that for once the usual warring pair worked together.

“Don’t think anyone will argue with that,” by then only Vinogradov had yet to voice his feedback on this subject. For someone as gentle and caring, it didn’t leave any doubt he would prefer not to put somebody in harm’s way if it could be avoided. Therefore, Minya moved to the next question they ought to ponder.

“Someone should be there when Panteleyev wakes up, just in case.”

  


The brainstorming went dead momentarily.

  


“We can’t ask Novorossiysk again. He already had enough just for what happened today.” Novorossiysk never said so himself, yet Vinogradov preferred not to take chances.

An almost inappropriate merry mood struck the Orlan as he reflected what he heard from the bunch whose uniforms all comprised white uniform shirt, black trousers and black tie. “I wish I was there—Novorossiysk actually used brute force to tackle someone? If we exclude the time he needed to do it to stop our Roska from trying to run away, I never saw him do that! And then there was two years ago. When he hissed at Minsk he would do it to help Roska, he eventually didn’t.”

“Um… can we get serious here, Minya? I realize my brother is a big trouble, still… I don’t want him to get hurt.”

To which the unit whose physique differed from the rest addressed that concern, “I got you, Em. I hate to say this may become a new reality if Panteleyev doesn’t learn his lesson.”

Back to silence. Every single one of them fell into deep pondering. Who to recruit? Who to stay out — whether for their size or their aging physique. The last clause preoccupied Lazarev primarily. Already several guys were in unfortunate condition, and tussling with a new, even without restraint to aggression like Panteleyev could put them at risk.

Seriously, he wouldn’t want any of the older guys to ‘meet their end’ by being physically assaulted by Panteleyev.

Alas, he only saw one resolution.

  


“I’ll do it.”

  


That was Minya for you. The guy who was probably too nice to the point he willingly volunteered to be the front to tackle any crisis. To the Fregats though, they both saw it coming and loathe how Minya offered himself at the same time. A weak voice emerged from Tributs.

“Minya—st—”

“He is already wary of you all and Novorossiysk, right? Let’s hope he still has a neutral view on me. Besides, he can’t use the territorial change against me!” Ever the same energetic response, reconsidering didn’t seem to be the option on the table. Against the sober mood of his fleet mates, the black-haired Orlan revealed his true intention. “Guys, look at it this way. We still have other cruiser type units, Fokin for example. But he’s already very old. And your clan is about the largest among destroyer subtype - it won’t be easy for another destroyer unit to go up against Panteleyev.”

Several nods responded from the four heads of varied shades. One with the darkest continued.

“I don’t want to put it to the test, but I doubt the Sarych brood can handle him one-on-one. Ultimately… I don’t think it will sit well with you if your youngest ‘accidentally’ kills our old guys.”

That, and how they definitely didn’t want a certain ‘aged’ member of their fleet… none other than Minsk… to face Panteleyev in such a situation sealed the deal. In a week’s time, the only ‘nuclear eater’ surface ship would await Panteleyev’s return of consciousness. From then on they went about carrying warnings to their fellow fleet mates. At the same time, appointments had been done in the background to have a high-ranked human personnel with the knowledge of androids’ password to be on hand had an emergency arise.

  


* * *


	29. Poisonous Anxiety

  


  


Ever since the ‘collapse’ of the USSR, Zakharov and Kuzma were far from being the only members they lost in this dorm. Rooms were tardily, but steadily, emptying. Older units either ‘reached their end’ or simply moved to the ‘basement’ in hopes for the future repair and modernization. Newer units, like Osmotritelnyy, relocated to the nearby shipyard, waiting up for the same process there instead of holing up at the basement.

Shuffling in the rooming happened now and then. Units which lost their roommates got reassigned to another with a similar situation. Stoykiy by now moved into the same accommodation as Bezboyaznennyy after losing the first Sarych unit to arrive.

Cracks, spots of fading color, unwashed glass panels on windows… the absence of many older residents impacted the level of cleanliness of the building as well. As much as the remaining units tried, the entire place was a bit much for them to clean in an appropriate time frame like before. Hence most meticulous attention only focused on their own rooms and common areas. Those empty rooms and corridors gradually deserting from the dwindled number of residents left untouched most days.

The commander sent Panteleyev to one of the rooms in such a ghost wing of the dorm building.

  


  


“You should have informed us earlier you met Panteleyev at Baltiysk.”

Standing nearby the door of the room suddenly found itself occupied again, two androids tasked with the duty to greet Panteleyev when he woke up chatted in a faint voice. One was, as expected, Lazarev. Another was the newest Sarych who arrived just a few weeks before their fleet lost the eldest Fregat.

Bezboyaznennyy failed to pinpoint if that sentence meant to criticize him or just the Orlan stating a fact. He had his own reason. And he already explained it; the Panteleyev he saw during the period of preparation in Baltiysk was extremely elusive. He rarely socialized with other fleet members. Thus other than a few sighting in distance, he didn’t get any opportunity to chat with the Fregat he heard would be in the same fleet in the Far East.

Then, another occurrence was the change in Panteleyev himself.

“Um… I wonder if I told you what I learned back in Baltiysk. Will it become a deception? I can’t believe what he did there after I left… I wouldn’t suspect him of acting such an unimaginably terrible crime like that.”

  


It turned out… the humans had already received forewarning. Yet none of it slipped to the androids. Only two days before the newest Fregat would wake up that it was finally revealed. Naturally, the androids of the project 1155 dissatisfied to be kept in the dark.

Months ago during summer, Panteleyev tried to sabotage the base in Baltiysk in his bid to avoid being sent to the Pacific.

After that attempt, most androids in that precise base turned their backs on him. Despite two units by chance stumbling on him before any major damage materialized, they lost their trust and any little empathy they might have had to Panteleyev before. The password was used as the only method to force him to leave. Or else, he might never leave at all.

  


“Well, I’m still rather new and probably have not witnessed the worst of it yet. Is it true that… as my brothers gossiping how they never saw Shaposhnikov fuming at his own ‘lineage’ like this?”

The cruiser who shared his hometown with the bunch in black marine uniforms let out a soft laughter. Ho, they regularly gossip on Shaposhnikov? Ho, he wondered how hard they ganged up on ‘pecking’ the frigatebird they had bad blood with in their own nest?

“Sorry. ‘Gossip’ sets me off. Superb word choice there.”

Not quite decided what would happen next, the latest addition to the project 956 in Vladivostok slid his bright blue eyes toward the door separating them from the notorious member of project 1155. He was dragged here hoping Panteleyev might recognize him. Would he, really? Neither unit in marine uniform knew what to say to aid the trouble here. Albeit, he believed Lazarev would be the primary negotiator to solve the situation.

  


Staircase echoed with somebody’s urgent footsteps, drawing both’s attention to meters away down the hallway. A member of the non-combatant type brought a message for them from the ground floor. Through an internal phone call, the monitoring group informed that Panteleyev had woken up.

“It’s quiet in there. Should I hope he has calmed down?”

Mere seconds later, Bezboyaznennyy’s wishful thinking utterly shattered by the noise of some furniture fell victim to Panteleyev’s wrath. Looking at each other, all of them displayed assorted emotion in reaction to that sign of impending disaster - the non-combatant unit, understandably, with a fearful expression, the latest Sarych with disappointment and Lazarev, impatient.

“Have we contacted the Vice-Admiral yet, Irtysh?” whispered the Orlan.

Low and much smaller voice of the messenger muttered to the unit over a half foot taller, “We did. As soon as the phone call ended, in fact. But remember, the Vice-Admiral is in his late fifties. He can’t run up the stairs as effortlessly as we do.”

“Good, thanks.” A pat on the shoulder for a job well done on his colleague from the hand in a white glove.

“You retreat, quick. He may burst out of the door any second. I’ll block the way to corner him here. Go to the stairs to direct the Vice-Admiral.”

“Got it. Good luck, Minya, Bezboyaznennyy.”

  


Right then the trio of androids separated in two opposite directions. The popular cruiser unit headed to the door, with the other smaller combatant unit trailing closely behind him. Farther away, the messenger followed suggestions and hovered near the point where the staircase connected to the third floor with anticipation to see the human figure they waited for… soon.

Ceasing his forward movement, the black-hair unit from Saint Petersburg put his hand on the doorknob without a noise. He wouldn’t try turning it. Instead, he would wait — to feel the motion of the doorknob turning from inside to estimate Panteleyev’s action. This measure was only to prevent the troublesome Fregat from catching them off-guard in his bid to escape. If Panteleyev expected to make a mad dash, the second he threw the door open, he’d run head first into Lazarev. Positioning himself less than five meters away, the youngest Sarych prepared to intercept his counterpart in the Fregat clan. They rather be on guard and spare no opening.

Loud sound of the human personnel’s movement on the stairs announced the approach of their most-awaited person. His body language radiated tension, the Vice-Admiral hurried to the spot Lazarev and Bezboyaznennyy stood guarding, not caring if his breath rhythm already out of normal.

“What now? What happened?!”

“Nothing yet, sir. He only woke up and hasn’t gotten out yet. We did hear a noise inside. Seems like… he trashes some furniture out of frustration.” Reported the unit who barely became part of this fleet less than a year.

“Bezya, guard the Vice-Admiral.” It might look calm for now, yet Lazarev preferred not to be reckless.

A crime of killing a human said to be enough to immediately cease an android’s existence. So far he only heard the condition of why it was forbidden. He experienced nothing close to it. Didn’t matter, he’d do anything to make sure the human presented near him would be safe — even if it meant he had to tear off this dangerous Fregat’s limbs…

Let’s just hope the older Fregats would forgive him…

  


Minutes ticked away, yet there was still no progress. Was Panteleyev truly calming down after damaging something to vent his rage? Or… was this just to lure them to let their guard down?

“Sir? What do we do now? Wait for him to open the door or force our way in?” Lazarev turned for instruction from the human.

From behind Bezboyaznennyy, the facial expression on that wrinkled and tired face told the vice-admiral himself was in a tough position, too. Keeping the rogue Fregat in the confinement of living accommodations would earn them an advantage, but… best not forget this unit already did some things not usually expected. Sabotaging a base? Attempted. Not to mention that intention also at the cost of harming his own self — checked. And it was the latter which weighed heavily on the vice-admiral conscious.

Surely, this was only the third floor… and usually unthinkable… 

What if Panteleyev decided to make a run by crashing through the room’s window? Practically jump off from the third floor?

“Irtysh!” The lone mortal shouted at the non-combatant unit near the stairs. “Go down and tell a few units to round the building to keep eyes on the window of Panteleyev’s room!”

Readily scurried away, the android with curly ginger hair dashed down as ordered.

“Jumping from the third floor…” even as he was also an android, the Sarych failed to imagine the possible outcome of that thoughtless action. “Androids’ structure is without a doubt more durable than humans’ skeleton. But our weight also…”

“I have no clue either. Trust me, Bezboyaznennyy.” Huffed the aged personnel.

  


Right then, another noise of destruction materialized, startling the vice-admiral. It came from the door, the opposite side from Lazarev to be exact. The Orlan thought it sounded like some fragile material broken… probably a vase being smashed against the door. Twisted his lips in distaste, the strongest android presented wondered who would be the one cleaning all these messes Panteleyev made?

“All right. I know you are there. Whatever the number exactly I don’t care. No more hiding!! I’m sick of this!”

For such a disgruntled tone, that was an invitation to go into the room no less.

To his surprise, Lazarev turned the doorknob to find out it was unlocked. But again… if Panteleyev had been out cold all this time due to the sleep command, then it was no point to lock the door. Pulling the panel barrier wide enough just to let the one inside aware that his body could easier block the passage entirely, the frame in a cream-colored uniform and blue cape went about in hope to create a chance for a peace offering.

“Hi, Yuriy! I get to talk to you at last! Are you okay?” He wouldn’t deny the last sentence was stupid, but that was how pleasantry among humans goes, according to the data in his inorganic brain.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t ignite Panteleyev’s temper again so soon…

“If your idea of having password triggered in succession is what it means to be ‘okay’, sure…” Ugh, he should know it. Androids’ logic-dominated, emotion void brain hates unnecessary pleasantry which made little sense.

“You’re right. I’m sorry about that.” Conceded, falsely or not, Lazarev intended to maintain the friendly approach.

  


Right now, judgemental was the last thing needed here.

  


Pushing his frame a little more inside, he went on verbally prodding the anti-social looking newbie into conversation. If asking regarding his well-being didn’t work, he’d try to work around other topics… probably talking about Kaliningrad might help. So it’d show that the name of this troublesome unit’s hometown wasn’t a forbidden subject in this fleet.

“Say! The water in Baltic around Kaliningrad never freezes up in winter, right? I guess you may already notice from your arrival that the sea here freezes during winter. It’s a bit of a nuisance but we have icebreakers to help with that!”

No reaction, the clearly annoyed Fregat shot him a look that decoded as ‘not interested’.

“It must be nice to be in the region where the sea doesn’t freeze up…” intentionally varied his tone, the Orlan acted as if he was incredibly envious of the Fregat units born in Yantar. “I think Kamchatka will be interesting for you. There’s a bunch of volcanoes there! And if you’re lucky, you may experience an earthquake!”

Even the vice-admiral by now frowned at the strange direction of the chatty Orlan’s attempt to lure Panteleyev into conversation. Earthquakes were hecking nightmares. Why did androids find them exciting was beyond him.

“Don’t plan to bother going there.” With the simplest effort, the youngest, grumpy member of project 1155 shut down the conversation.

Forcing his face to remain pleasant, Lazarev internally screamed. How did this guy even pass the social interaction test before deploying?! Granted, he might only develop this after the ordeal with Lithuania cutting off Kaliningrad from the rest of the country.

  


Sensing Lazarev’s struggle, the standing-by Sarych excused himself from the vice-admiral to get closer. 

He hoped… maybe he could help.

“Yuriy?” Of all the emotion Bezboyaznennyy experienced before, right now… he had zero confidence. Utterly no confidence that even though they had seen each other before at Baltiysk… that would really matter here and now. Ten months on, it was as if the Panteleyev he briefly saw and the gloomy, hateful Fregat he saw amidst the ruins of furniture wasn’t the same unit.

“I’m Bezboyaznennyy. We… probably saw each other back in Baltiysk. Though, you may not remember me, as we never conversed…”

To his utmost surprise, and partial delight, those grudging gray eyes looked at him and then… 

“Yeah, I remember you.”

Those short words filled the newest Sarych with renewed energy to help defuse the situation. With his puny power, he nudged Lazarev to give him wider access into the room. “You do? How great!!! It always bugged me how I didn’t get to converse with you there when I knew we’d meet here.”

No reply from the tensed unit in a uniform consisted of white and black colors. He just stared at the animated ‘supposed partner’ doing the one-sided talk.

“Look, I’m… I think we’re supposed to be partners? I mean, they designate our projects to work together in missions. Since your and my older siblings have worked together for years already… I guess that left us to form a pair?”

Amazingly, Panteleyev seemed to be more open to listening to Bezboyaznennyy. Perhaps the trust of having seen each other before worked its magic.

“I have been looking forward to becoming your friend, Yuriy. It doesn’t matter to me what happened after I left Baltiysk.” With a voice as sincere as he could speak, the youngest Sarych meant it. At least, the first part. He hated to admit it but the ‘sabotage attempt’ he heard shaken him. What it had to take for an ordinary unit, programmed to be loyal and obedient to the commanding, to go against the norms so severely?

  


“Aga, I see.” Lazarev was about to pat the intruding Sarych on the head when he heard that response from the ‘prisoner’. Except…

“To me though, I knew you’re bad news since the time we coincided in Baltiysk.” Contempt was so thick in the unfriendly newbie’s voice.

“Be my friend? No, you can’t be anything but one more chain that I’ll end up hating with all my presence. You’re just another tool for the humans to tie me down here! I hate you and your pretentious talk!!! You’re too meaningless to ever dare think you can change my mind!”

  


Those cruel words hit Bezboyaznennyy hard. His face crumpled in a mixture of negative emotions.

Lazarev decisively called it enough. “Hey! That’s uncalled for!!! Bezboyaznennyy only wants to help you and you say this to him!?”

“Does it matter?” Laughter lightly rang out from inside. “He’s a FOOL if he thinks his friendship means more than the security of Kaliningrad. Boy, I can’t believe a fully accepted, active combatant unit operates on this childish delusion.”

  


  


Alas, it didn’t end well. After berating his supposed Sarych partner, next Panteleyev tried to pick a fight with Lazarev. Despite their size difference, he believed if he could defeat an Orlan unit, no one would dare bother him again. They might even send him back to Kaliningrad as he wished…

  


The day didn’t proceed as well as they hoped for. At all. Lazarev and Bezboyaznennyy fell casualties to the mayhem in which the vice-admiral had to trigger Panteleyev’s password again in their presence, hence required them both to have their own password activated for the first time — even though it was just to erase the memory of witnessing Panteleyev’s password. Controlled by the password, Panteleyev went on to carry out the order issued with hasty consideration by the human on the scene. The task? He was to clean the third floor of the dorm building for three days, afterward entering yet another sleep for two days.

“Yes, you can tell the Fregat brood to help their youngest clean if they wish… but I’d rather they do so with their mouth shut.”

The vice-admiral’s voice was weaker than ever. As if the trouble with the collapsing of the USSR and the following meltdown of social and economic aspects in ordinary human life hadn’t already worn him down enough. Having to confront a unit who might sabotage the base was a cherry on top. In the most sarcastic way possible.

  


Contacts with the Fregat on password to be avoided among any other android outside of the clan with code number 1155. Even the Sarych brothers ignored his presence when they happened to catch a glimpse of him. The harsh treatment received by their own precious youngest didn’t sit well with them at all. Only for their amiable connection with most of the units in the same project they chose the more ‘peaceful’ approach by just minding their own business and left Panteleyev on his own. 

However, Bezboyaznennyy was forever stained by that undeserved critical attitude. He never approached the youngest of his clan’s partner project again.

As a ‘surrogate’ among the destroyers in black marine uniforms, Chervona Ukrayna learned about the terrible interaction his first friend’s younger brother unfairly suffered. Bystryy was understandably upset. Yet things were complicated because Panteleyev was supposed to be Vinogradov’s only younger brother… had everything proceeded as it should be.

“Well, I don’t have the heart to face him anymore. Even if he will go on a patrol mission on password…”

What Panteleyev’s ruthless reproach did to Bezboyaznennyy was to instill the sense of insecurity. ‘Meaningless’, ‘bad news’, ‘pretentious’, ‘fool’ and ‘childish delusion’... all those words thrown at him made him wonder if he wasn’t on par with his older siblings.

It wouldn’t ‘hurt’ this much, had it not come from someone whom he preemptively considered ‘friend’ and ‘partner’.

Hence the decision came within the ‘buzzard’ nest that when the time came for Panteleyev to be on patrol, one of the older units would volunteer to go and keep their confused youngest off the foul-mood Fregat permanently.

“Fuck it. Even Boryushka seems nicer now, despite all the rough patches we have with him because of how he treats Vovka.” 

Even the said Fregat’s first rival like Boyevoy admitted that much. And it was true. When they shove Bezboyaznennyy to pair up with the hardheaded, proud ‘Kaliningradskiy’ unit, Shaposhnikov unexpectedly showed his rare merciful side to the abused Sarych. ‘If my apologies could mend your scar, I would definitely do it. Unfortunately, I believe my apologies won’t be enough. We’ll try to get him to apologize to you… someday’ was what he said.

But the chance for the older Fregats to reorient their youngest was nowhere in sight. 

Time went on and Panteleyev just constantly acted up after one password usage to another. He’d easily become a champion of password-triggering competition; if only the central commanding already went insane to come up with such a thing after all the hardship they were facing trying to maintain the combat readiness in this failing economy.

  


The worst nightmare came through one day, when Minsk woke up. But also, it was probably the point Panteleyev ‘knew his place’ because Minsk readily slammed him against the wall in a bid to stop him from being a ‘nauseous punk’.

After then, he ceased his continuous aggression to pull everyone into a fight. Instead, just resigned to shunning everyone equally. A discreet corner of the waterfront where piers lined up to aid the androids’ transition from land to water and vice versa was his chosen spot. There, they found him hanging around daily, just staring at the channel where the Golden Horn Bay connected to the Sea of Japan. But he still ‘bit’ if anyone dared try to chat with him.

  


Lazarev still hovered near Panteleyev as a safety measure, although later there was an order for the entire base forbidding any human personnel from ever approaching this ‘dangerous’ unit without an android accompanying them. As well as the four older Fregats who kept on their attempts to pull their youngest into the right path. Nevertheless, even then they got an ‘equal treatment’ to everyone all the same. As a security protocol, Panteleyev was prohibited from the armaments storage bay unless he was on password and prepared to leave for a mission out in the sea. No one trusted him to be near weapons or anything that could explode anymore. Even when he was to ‘drink’ fuel like the rest of the fleet, he needed to be on password to ensure the petrol would be consumed as intended.

But this ‘self-isolation’ routine also disrupted one of the core rules of androids: the consumption of organic food as a disguise procedure for he never wanted to step into the crowded canteen. The older brothers tried, but never succeeded, in bringing him food on their own.

Thus this was just another headache for Minsk as his time drew near…

  


  


“Yeah, since his arrival, Panteleyev occupied my focus too much I forgot you meant to wake up around the second week of January.”

“Humph, and how pathetic you see in it, that I only have to go back to sleep so soon?” Grumbled the older ‘gyrfalcon’ who was now back into his ‘pyjamas’ — just t-shirt and sweatpants. Hanging on the wall hook not far away was his uniform… the usual clothing he was wearing less and less.

“Is there any point why I should look at you negatively? Who knows how long I myself will last after you’re gone…” Despite their normalized quipping back and forth since the first year they were together, their verbal sparring also grew few and far in between. And it wasn’t only because Minsk was absent lots of time, being forced to sleep. Being deprived of the opportunity to return ‘home’ also dealt a similar fate to Novorossiysk; he would reign in his brother’s place as long as his own crumbing components would allow him to.

Their time was finalizing, and they knew it.

The commanding level had reached the conclusion. By the end of June, Minsk was to retire.

  


“The next time I wake up again, I’m going to make sure that damned Panteleyev behaves…” bed creaking as it had been enduring Minsk’s body weight longer as of late. “Consider it my parting gift.”

“Your parting gift is to dismember our newest Fregat?” A huff of chuckle escaped the younger member of project 1143. “Greeted him with a slam against the wall… way to go.”

Silence fell in. There were a few more things that required discussions, yet Novorossiysk wondered if those subjects would be too tiring for his weakening sibling. The prospect of Minya inheriting the flagship rank once both of them were gone was among them. Knowing Minsk though, it would be difficult for Minsk to accept that.

“Should I treat that bratty kid better? For his merit of making that darn Shaposhnikov looks cuter, maybe?”

Novorossiysk wasn’t certain what expression exactly he showed upon hearing the word ‘cute’ and Shaposhnikov’s name together in one sentence. That was… one wild and weird combination. 

Of all the time he remembered, there was always a frown stuck on the reddish blond-haired Fregat. Was it only starting from the time he met Tributs? Possibly the ‘cute’ Shaposhnikov did exist back in Kaliningrad before the transfer…

Regrettably, Zakharov left them. He might need to ask Spiridonov one day. Even with that, he was sure Em would shoot him a weird look.

Then Minsk woke him up with a snark. “Get a grip, Novorossiysk. If sarcastically saying Shaposhnikov is ‘cute’ is enough to flabbergast you, you’re NOT ready to be a flagship!” ...Oh, how the younger Krechet couldn’t wait for the fleet commanding to retire this stubborn brother of his.

Sure, it would bring a void into his system to be alone in their fleet. But also, his system would be free from ‘rubbish’ aka Minsk’s tough guy act he put up unnecessarily TOO often.

  


He was going to have the last laugh, but would he laugh?

  


“Fine, I’ll leave you now so your system can finally rest from being forced to come up with all the snides.”

Being the same fleet almost a decade already, how could he not see it through? An annoyed expression crossed the brown-haired unit as he got ‘caught’, thus merely pretended he became too bored to spar further words with the sibling he stuck with by sending his torso slam vertically against the bed, pulling the blanket over himself. Yet, Novorossiysk decided to have the last laugh… for now.

  


“Night, night, bro.”

  


* * *


	30. All the 'Lost' Older Brothers

  


  


“Hey, you okay?’

  


Without missions to the sea any longer, Minya had somehow adopted a new role of being a ‘patrol’ around their principal base. Economic meltdown unleashed a catastrophic consequence to the fleet. Funding, which was vital for maintaining the androids’ existence, completely dried up. In an unprecedented scale, it was as if the historical ‘Time of troubles’ manifested almost four hundred years later. Before the utter collapse of the Russian state ruled by Ivan the Terrible’s descendants of Rurik Dynasty, there was a widespread famine that killed millions of citizens before the final upheaval took place in the form of dynastic change.

No android would ever imagine this would be the end for them.

To ‘die’ by what was an equivalent of ‘famine’ for these artificial beings.

Yet, that was precisely what occurred right at this moment. Food - fuel was scarce, their bodies became weaker at the same time - not by disease like mortal humans but... defects, malfunctions, and old aged components refusing to function any longer. And worse yet, there was no chance for them to receive the ‘treatment’ to prolong their life - no fund for proper maintenance and... no more spare parts to replace those fell by exceeding their predetermined lifespan.

So now, Lazarev’s uniqueness of being the only surface unit operated using nuclear energy revealed to be both blessing and a curse.

  


Limping against the rusting rail fence was a compact-sized android belonged to a frigate subtype. To most people’s eyes at first glance, it looked like the figure was just slumping and taking a nap... until on a closer inspection uncovered the impossible - eyes which were wide open and the lack of breathing.

The much taller frame in the cream-colored uniform knelt down beside that ‘body’, unaffected by the lack of warmth when he touched the unmoving figure with his own hands. While to his knowledge as an artificial entity told him this ‘death’ never meant to be permanent, the sight was still disturbing enough for the actual mortal humans... to see something akin their own kind appeared ‘dead’.

The second Orlan himself was no mechanic or engineer. He could look carefully all over the body of his colleague but could never tell what went wrong - just merely fuel starvation or something broken inside due to excessive utilizing beyond its designated lifespan?

With some difficulty, powerful arms under the pristine cream suit suffered some stains as they scooped up that lifeless body, at this moment more true than it ever was. Employing the fireman’s carry position, he lifted his colleague’s motionless body over his powerful shoulders. By his estimation, the recent ‘nonfunctional’ unit weighed around four hundreds kilograms, but that didn’t pose so much hardship for the android with raven hair whose own weight exceeded a ton and a quarter.

The only anguish it caused for him was... mentally.

This body... how many had it been since he had to become the sole ‘undertaker’ to his own once lively comrades?

  


  


For a distance of maybe three hundreds meters, the Orlan whose loyalty to his fleet could never be questioned transported his now ‘inanimate’ friend back to the building assigned as dormitory for their kind. The place had become hauntingly quiet... no longer there was laughter of jokes being told or buzzing of discussion about their could-be confrontation with the androids of the US Navy. Dust covered almost every square inch of the cracking linoleum-covered reinforced concrete flooring... for no one was around to complete the daily cleaning duty anymore.

Most of the units were put into ‘sleep mode’ to conserve fuel, as there was nowhere near abundantly available as back in the 80s. At any given moment by now, only a handful of units were activated and did what they could with some responsibility still required the attention from android personnel. They were scheduled to sleep for three to six months, then reactivated to check if they could still function. And regrettably... several units weren’t able to ‘come back to life’ after the attempted reactivation. Even those who at first returned to animate state without a sign of trouble... could still break down and ‘gone’ like this body he took responsibility over.

And whenever such an unfortunate event happened, he needed to move that body away from the assigned room whatever unit ‘perished’ belonged to. There was another place designated for that purpose…

Underground basement of the dormitory received conversion solely for that intention.

Beds laid in rows, balmy air inside was of a stark contrast to the chilling January winter air outdoor. Heaters ran all day to keep the temperature from dropping to that similar to to a giant freezer. This was all the human commanding willing to spare for them at the moment - to preserve them in best possible condition hoping there might be a day in future when funding bounced back to the previous level and provide chances for these androids to return to duty again.

For those unable to continue their existence due to overwork component broken down, this was the best solution to keep them in warm temperature. Frozen fuel left inside could cause further trouble. For those who merely ‘hibernate’ because of fuel starvation... it didn’t seem to hurt to keep them in the same condition.

The metal plate barrier forced to slide open. There was no point to install heavy locking mechanic here. Beneath the dim light of ceiling bulbs which provides visual possibility any hour of a day, the solemn gray lenses swept to search for an empty spot. Dozens of ‘bodies’, perhaps close to a hundred, had already been ‘laid’ here, waiting for the day they might be salvaged. Settled his friend’s ‘empty’ frame against the blank concrete divider, Lazarev took the duty of preparing a place from his passing comrade to ‘rest’. At a quick glance, it would look no different from getting ready to sleep, except…

The Orlan unit with Prussian Blue cape slipped his eyes farther toward the rows that had been occupied. With blanket covered their entire body instead of leaving the area above the neck exposed... this place looked exactly like what humans called a morgue.

  


Such a place wasn’t supposed to be intervened with androids like them.

  


Majority of the bodies were of smaller size. Corvettes, frigates, an older generation of destroyers and SSKs and even old SSNs were chosen to ‘sacrifice’ for larger and newer units. 

Again, lifting the lighter-weighted body to lay on an unoccupied bed, Lazarev took a long sympathetic look at the comrade he just lost. This frigate was one of those that always happy to come up with adventurous invitations for the Pacific Fleet’s first Orlan to explore Vladivostok on his first year here. He touched the chest under old uniform designated to this project and through sensors on his hand registered how worn out the fabric was.

It was a harsh reality, but it wouldn’t be incorrect to say most of the ‘bodies’ lied here were ‘abandon to death’. With the exception for one…

  


His eyes glided toward a certain bed near the door. Under the blanket was Zakharov.

  


He couldn’t help but wondered for the future of the Fregat clan. Em... his escort during the transition to the Far East was devastated by it. And on top of losing Zakharov, the still never-see-a-ceasefire-in-sight quarrel of Shaposhnikov and Tributs, Panteleyev’s unforgiving, dangerous attitude… Vinogradov was the only one helped his current eldest sibling to handle affair within their own family. With this terrible economy though… Em himself also fell to a similar situation to Zakharov’s; how long could he hold on without proper maintenance?

Finally, covering his most recent ‘deceased’ colleague with yet another blanket similar to the rest of the ‘residents’ of this basement. Without a word, he left in silence, hoping there wouldn’t be more ‘casualty’ when he emerged to the upper ground once again.

  


* * *

  


  


“We lost another unit from project 1135,” The once glorious Orlan reported to the fleet’s current flagship… Novorossiysk who took over the responsibility while Minsk was put to sleep. And the other android of similar imposing physique couldn’t do much but gave a simple nod.

“Minya, you okay? I hate how this was imposed on you solely because your fuel can last up to five years in single refuelling. I wish I could help you more than this…” bemoaned the unit with light brown hair. He opened the files drawer under Minsk’s desk, fishing a folder which recorded the lost comrades since the beginning of the 90s.

“That’s the fifth guy we lost since Minsk went to ‘sleep’. I don’t know how bad it is in Kamchatka. Apparently, it was quite an enormous shock for K-223.”

“Now you remind me… even nuclear powered units don’t necessarily ‘live forever’ compared to conventional powered unit like me,” the third member of project 1143 spoke quietly. He was made aware that there’s also a massive ‘die out’ situation in Kamchatka where units were simply chosen to live on or die. Most of the ‘deads’ are older units, included the old delegate once reigned as commander among the subs who forced to bore the tension of crisis in 1983. For K-223 who left his base in 1986 and only returned last year, the state of his home base was appalling. A third of those he knew prior being temporary located in Bolshoy Kamen were gone.

“But those new ‘Antey’ units are coming, right? Though they probably won’t be enough to fill the void…”

“We’re going to get another later this year. By then… Minsk’s gone.”

That was what announced, because of the repair he needed but could never be realized now from both trouble with funding and the fact that... Nikolaev belonged to another state now, forced the commanding level to strike the second unit of project 1143 off. Novorossiysk was to remain as the sole aircraft carrying type in the easternmost fleet. While leaning on his elbow, the purely surface combatant unit with cream-colored uniform redirected his gaze out of the window, toward another building around a few hundred meters away.

  


“In two weeks, your brother will wake up and retrieve this flagship rank for the last time…” pondered the Orlan unit who at first seemed to cross the said person for an unknown reason. Their relationship had warmed up so little in eight years they worked together.

“And once I wake up again in mid-April or so, you’ll officially become secretary, Minya.”

The soon-to-be secretary paid no attention to that. He couldn't care less for the rank but... he cared for the future of their fleet more on another perspective.

“Roska is going to need you more than ever with the loss of Minsk. What the... we and neither what we still have left of the Black Sea Fleet can get a hand on information regarding Slava?”

While the tip of a ballpoint pen scribbled on the record paper, Novorossiysk’s green-blue eyes refused to ascend to make contact with his close associate’s gray ones. Although he called Nikolaev, now known as Mykolaiv, his home... he never understood what pushed Ukraine to declare independence. Let alone knowing what they might have in mind regarding the first Atlant.

“Not just me, but you, too. I thank you for your steadfastness to quickly befriend him, albeit whatever weird competition Slava set him on against you.” to which Lazarev readily shifted eyes at it; that was the key reason he also wanted Slava back… so they could ‘talk’ about this exact incident.

“Surely you have not seen... Slava raised that precise condition against Sergunya?” Even though after the name change, Lazarev still didn’t have a heart to call his brother by a new diminutive. His first name was no longer ‘Sergey’. It was now Fyodor, but had Kirov even acknowledged that change? 

The unit bore the name of the southern city on the Black Sea just shook his head, “I don’t stalk them twenty-four hours a day when I was there, you know? Can’t even recall precisely how many times they in fact come face-to-face against each other. But you know your brother… I wonder if Slava even knew Kirov acknowledged his rivalry or not.”

“True, it’s about Sergunya the ‘have-mouth-but-won’t-use-it-to-communicate’ here. Now you mentioned it… I think Sergunya’s lack of response probably pushes Slava seething. That idiot brother of mine, oh…”

“Take it easy, Minya,” Novorossiysk recognized the detail that bothered his colleague with ease. Like his ‘eagle’ comrade, the third Krechet felt odd to address the eldest Orlan with the alternative name. It was already more than a year since Kirov was also ‘put to sleep’ due to the catastrophic vanish of a stable economy. Such tragedy was unthinkable a few years before… Kirov was the beloved ‘poster boy’ of the Navy’s higher ups. Against the looming gloomy atmosphere, the third project 1143 android steered their conversation to something he deemed more positive.

“When was the last time you called Nakhimov?”

“Two weeks ago… more or less. He tried to tell me he could handle it but… I don’t know. Again I have no mean to provide him more assistance than mere words.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Words are still better than nothing. After all, you probably already gave him more advice than Kirov even gave to Nakhimov himself.”

“Though we rarely recall it, we’re somewhat similar, don’t you think? I never get to talk to Nakhimov as a mentor. The same applied to you regarding Gorshkov…” those gray eyes swept at the scene outdoor as much as the number of windows allowed. “It’s getting too quiet here… not only because many of our comrades went inactive. Also, Kosek… how’s that tiny helicopter colleague of ours going to adapt to Murmansk? You sent him to train Kuznetsov, right?”

“Kuznetsov… heh,” the current flagship of Pacific Fleet muttered the last name assigned to his ‘cousin’. “He needs all supports we can provide. Don’t forget, his ordeal was even more traumatic than our Roska.”

  


It was true that the situation with his younger brother ‘stuck’ in Ukraine also bothered their ‘Red Atlant’ deeply. Still, he left Nikolaev voluntarily… unlike Kuznetsov who was forced to leave, even with ‘manual control seizing’ password utilized on him. For the past months they had learned that method was regularly utilized on Panteleyev to control his tantrum. And witnessing how each time the commanders used such method, the youngest Fregat’s rage only went up… that couldn’t be a pleasant experience for anyone.

  


A thunderous bang on the door as if somebody just slapped on the wooden panel shook the two androids from their leisure chat. Turning around just as the door gave entrance to the figure who forced the doorknob to surrender, standing in front of them was no other than Minsk himself.

“Wha\---? Aren’t you supposed to ‘sleep’ for one more week?!” cried the Orlan as this meant his ‘peaceful’ period had officially ended far faster than scheduled. After almost eight years in the same fleet and despite their ‘Red Atlant’ had grown much warmer toward Lazarev, Minsk’s critical stance toward him didn’t change much.

The older unit of project 1143 chose to ignore their sole project 1144 android’s protest.

“Novorossiysk, go to sleep. You better preserve your condition the best you can. There’s no telling when you’ll get a proper maintenance. So just... leave the last stretch of training Minya for secretary to me. No one would care if I overwork myself since I’m hopeless, anyway.”

While fully realized what the ‘dying’ flagship said was wholly true, the only android in cream color uniform still didn’t like such pessimism in that speech. Glancing toward Novorossiysk told that the temporary flagship also thinking the same thing.

  


“Hey, Boss. Mind if I have a go at him?” 

“Go ahead, Minya. After nearly ten years I’m also sick of lecturing him myself.”

  


And the Russian easternmost fleet’s lone Orlan unit with no hesitation went full force on the flagship whose authority and condition were in declining.

“Sorry, Commander but I really want to choke you for that. No one cares? Roska will DEFINITELY care!!! He looks up to you so much, despite you always faked that harsh ass facade toward everyone. With your absence, there’s going to be an immense hole in his core because it will be the first time he loses someone so close to him - on top of the ongoing trouble with Slava’s disappearance!”

At the desk which still officially belonged to Minsk, Novorossiysk simply sat and watched Minya released a tirade long deserved for his older brother with significant interest.

“And then you forgot your own younger brother! You think Novorossiysk is going to celebrate the fact that you’re being decommissioned? Tough chance! Even for me, things will not be the same with you gone - even these entire eight years all you mostly did to me is turning me into your chew toy!”

A noise of failed attempt to suppress laughter unexpectedly escaped the light brown-haired unit.

Minsk was less impressed though, and he countered, “Yeah? Should I change you from a chew toy to a punch bag?!”

“Just cut it, Commander. Tsk… alas, you’re more similar to Sergunya than you’d know.”

  


That revelation profoundly surprised both brothers of the aircraft carrying type. In almost unison, they mouthed, “What? How???”

Lifting his gloved hand to slap his forehead area, the former ‘Frunze’ rummaged through his databank for those months spent in Severomorsk. He wished Kirov could change. What he heard from Nakhimov revealed otherwise, though. There, and the second’s Orlan irritation firmly set in.

“You both... care for opinions of humans and other androids outside of your own family TOO MUCH. Darn Sergunya and his ‘I must be invincible’ mask. You, too, Commander. Here you are, trying to pose the ‘tough and won’t be defeated’ facade.” For dramatic effect, the unit with a cape of deep sea shade moved his robust shoulders in a rhythm like humans would do when they sighed. “This, is a stupid, destructive even. Luckily, Novorossiysk only found your ‘act’ annoying. You do not understand how Sergunya’s similar act made me wonder, in my early days, if I was a disappointment that couldn’t keep up with the standard he set.”

A unit with extraordinary social skill and self-esteem like their black-haired colleague? A disappointment??? The combination of them together was nearly unbelievable to the two gyrfalcons.

“Yeah… I could feel you, Minya. With Kirov being like we know… it’s easy to believe he disapproved of you, with all his silence and ‘care less’ demeanor.” The younger of the sibling pair native to the city now identified as Ukrainian added. Meanwhile, the older stayed speechless as he didn’t get to coincide with this notorious first unit of project 1144.

  


Then Minya’s target boomeranged back to Minsk again. “I remembered when you softened for seconds during the ordeal when Roska tried to flee. You… thanked me for asking if you were okay.” 

Internally Minsk clenched his artificial teeth. Without a doubt that was a mistake to let this diligent-mouth Orlan saw through him.

“Just…” understandably the brown-haired Krechet’s voice was strained. “What exactly are you aiming to convey here? Do I need to flex my authority as the commander one last time by kicking your rear?”

As if to reenact the scene which precisely put him on top of Minsk’s distrust, the unit from Baltic Sea region feigned toward that threat with his hand under white glove flew to press on his chest. A soft smile graced Novorossiysk’s face, in contrast to the grim he carried just minutes ago.

“Is that how you will treat one of your ‘most healthy’ subordinates, Commander? Oh no, what if your kick causes me to fall apart? We can’t afford to pull me off to repair now.”

That was very much true. The terrible timing and funding that was. Meanwhile, the clause ‘Minya needed a repair’ right there was the load of nonsenses - how would he fall apart by just his kick! And it left Minsk seething at how the Orlan still found an opening to slip out of the corner he attempted to contain him in… again.

  


“Minya is right, though. How can I fall asleep if my system is preoccupied with worrying about how you’ll treat Minya without me around?”

Now his own younger sibling also teamed up on him. Great…

  


“You do realize Novorossiysk is actually nice as heck but why are you the only one he keeps butting heads with?” Not letting off the pursuit, Lazarev jumped at the chance to make his point clearer. “He wants you to stop wearing that ‘intimidate’ mask. Wearing it too long, and before you know it, you may already lose your real self. Sergunya is like that!”

That declaration echoed inside the office, which increasingly lost its prestige vibe by the lack of proper care. Novorossiysk was the first to respond.

“If it’s not too much of a secret, can you tell me what the ‘unmasked’ Kirov you have discovered is like? I always saw him behind that mask. Never thought of a possibility of him not being like that.”

“Ай—” but suddenly the second Orlan clammed up. It seemed to be a secret agreed on the project 1144 siblings alright…

“Right, it’s a seeeeeeecret,” how the most talkative unit was glad it wasn’t Minsk who posed the inquiries. He’d have been punched up. “I can let you know of the mystery of his ‘no speaking, ever’ madness. He hates his voice. Period.”

Minsk’s usually frowned eyebrows shot up instantly. “I thought only that dang Slava started a childish trouble with the crap about defeating your class. NOW you’re telling that Kirov is also… operating on a brain of a three-year-old human child?!” The incredulous tone in his booming voice told just how much he found it ridiculous.

“Now, now. Let’s not insult those we don’t see face-to-face.” Urged the unit still seated in the ‘flagship throne’. “Though I see your point here, Minya. Actually… combined with what Minsk just spurted, I now wonder…” his finger tapped thoughtfully on his chin as his system forming an input. “Perhaps Slava… also wears ‘a mask’ himself? With his ‘Slava the Unfriendly’ front he displayed to everyone.”

The lone head with jet black hair gave a steady shake.

“That’s… something for you and Roska to make a call. I never met him, remember? Sure, things would be easier if that happened… I’m confident I can see through him.”

“Are you going back to sleep or not?” Cutting through the ‘masks’ topic was Minsk losing his patience. He didn’t wake up for casual chat, borderline gossiping. He woke up to make most of his incalculable remaining time. The other pair of tropical sea water-like eyes glanced at the stubborn brother of his before resigning.

“Promise me you won’t dismember Minya and I’ll go.”

In response, the older sibling merely let out a rumble of laughter. Not a slightest hint of joy detected in that sound.

“Go to sleep. You just… want to hear it by your own ears, don’t you? I’m falling apart. So clobbering Minya is probably the last thing I can do now. In fact, I’m sure he can easily crush me in a physical fight.”

  


There, he admitted it. To the absence of a response from two other units of the same size in the same confined space. Of all their altercations from the first conversation together, the second Orlan could estimate how much it hurt his pride for the succumbing flagship to admit that much. At last, the first response to materialize was the scrap noise of the chair’s metal legs. Novorossiysk got up, leaving the post.

  


“Very well, since I now know you realize… I won’t stay around and let your yelpings clutter my system.” Though, by the next time he came out of ‘slumber’ again, how long would he get to hear this usual nonsense?

“When should I wake up then? Now you’re stealing about two weeks off my active time?”

Summarizing all the pros and cons, Minsk suggested, “Just the third week of April, like originally planned. I want to push it to the end of April but humph, I’m gonna admit I’m not fully certain my garbage body can endure up to that date thoroughly. In case I broke down earlier, Minya won’t be so lost.”

For once, seeing how his brother finally put some consideration on their sole Orlan, the third unit of project 1143 smiled. “Understood. Minya, please look out for him while I’m away.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of your brother.” 

Now with a mocking like that, maybe Minsk would be right to feel irritated. Novorossiysk pushed the door open, leaving before the verbal-only naval exercise took part in the office. His hearing sensory picked a little of the noisy commotion inside. His legs still healthy enough, as far as he could pull information regarding their condition on his inorganic brain. For a large unit like him, if a similar problem as what struck Zakharov materialized, it’d bring the end to him.

  


In the matter of minutes, he reached the dorm. There at the first floor common area, a handful of androids still in active status, including Fokin, looked sheepish as they sighted the younger ‘gyrfalcon’.

“Sorry, we should have called the office to warn you. He was just storming out so fast it leaves us very little time.”

To which the returning unit assured them he didn’t hold them at fault with a gentle look. “Forget it, he’s a troublesome one and higher-ranked. You can do very little against him, I understand.” 

His vivid blue-green eyes quickly scanned the area, memorizing all the faces he saw here right in this moment. How he hoped he would see them again, as many units as fate would allow, when he returned to active status in mid-April. “See you again in April, guys. Please hang in there.”

That was a depressing ‘goodnight bid’, yet who could blame Novorossiysk? It had become a new reality they faced daily, to lose their members at random. Yes, they already heard about the unit Minya just brought to the ‘basement’ today and sure hoped such a task wouldn’t be undertaken by their physically strongest unit again so soon. A wave of well-wishing echoed in the common area as the tall unit in white uniform ascended the stair to his room on the fourth floor. In ten weeks' time, they would see him again.

  


* * *


	31. Dreams in Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ****** So here is what I finished as of Camp NaNo 2020. After this, update will be less frequent as I write the latter half of this story.

  


  


Luck fell in Minya’s favor as Minsk took his worsening physique priority, hence spared little time for their customary ‘battle of the mouths’. Inside the office Novorossiysk just left, they pulled their wit together to the current stream of problems faced by the fleet; number of androids still ‘alive’, whose condition was rapidly falling, those they turned to the ‘basement’, the implement of newly deployed submarine units for the backup patrol and missions…

Most crucial, though, was how to deal with Panteleyev.

“If we weren’t androids, I’m betting Miki would ‘roll in his grave’ — or bed in our case — knowing what Panteleyev is like.” Mumbled the second-in-command in training.

“Think you can slam him against the wall, or ground, if needed? You must show him the power difference.” A suggestion Lazarev readily shook head at.

“I already did once, Commander. When he woke up after the Admiral triggered his password for the first time in our base. Granted, it was more of a tussle, buttttt… I’d rather not do that again. It’s just not my style, you know.”

There, Minsk’s signature frown made an appearance again, disapproving of the ‘style’ cited by his pain-in-the-rear-turned-secretary. “We’re warfare androids, NOT diplomats.”

“Remember how you chewed me right after I hinted I might be ‘more than willing to meet the American carrier task force with might the first chance I spot them’, Commander? Now you’re telling me to abandon the diplomatic approach.” Why on earth did he require to tolerate this smart-mouth Orlan? Keeping his temper in check, Minsk pushed their conversation through the ditch Lazarev just dug up.

  


“Internal affairs and national affairs are different,” the older unit cautiously replied. “In fleet, you need to be able to exercise your authority to maintain everything under control, or else we’re a fucking laughingstock of androids with ‘warfare’ label sticking on our chests.”

  


It looked like they would go nowhere. From his own experience observing how his elder brother and the Northern Fleet carefully threaded around one another, all because they didn’t understand each other, Lazarev had made up his mind not to be like that. Why else had he worked hard all these eight years to be friendly and approachable? If his stance and interactions toward his fleet mates suddenly shifted because he was elevated to a secretary or flagship, wouldn’t these friends of his find it disappointing? More so, he would be disappointed in himself, too.

The matter with Panteleyev might be different; true, until now they were never ‘friends’. Still, he wished to preserve a friendly gesture. The Fregat clan was precious to him. He didn’t want to turn a cold shoulder on the troublesome youngest should he consider redeeming himself.

Aware that they should make most of the time they had on hand, both sides let their contradicting views slip way easier than in the old days. Going through various plans and strategies, three hours went by since the time the flagship rank changed hands back to its original holder and Minsk was ready to give his aging joints a rest from long sitting.

“Panteleyev is still at his usual spot?” asked the unit who needed an update.

“Not moving an inch from there. I wonder what reason did your hard slam against the wall convince him that is the safest place to be?” 

“Heck, if I know. Because being slammed on water doesn’t hurt?” The frame in the white uniform rose from the chair. One could hear a faint creak from that action, though Lazarev chose not to comment. “Come with me. We’re taking an observation on him.”

  


Gathering the folder of paperwork, the black-haired unit arrowed to the door, opened it and held for the flagship to pass through. Again Minsk had a hard time telling if Minya was being considerate or if he just mocked him. The pair of the largest active units passed through the corridor, at last returning to the chilly January air outside. Stepping across the open area to their target brought the dorm into their view. The blue-green lenses beneath brown brows took a brief glance that way, then halted the focus there. Was he seeing something, due to degenerating clarity of his eye lenses?

“Hey,” as they walked farther away from the HQ building which by now didn’t look as prestige as it used to be for the second strongest fleet, the outgoing flagship called for attention from his secretary trainee. “Tell me, Minya... is that really a smoke or my eyesight is getting unbelievably bad now?”

Minsk was prepared to be laughed at by the Orlan and a friendly mocking that he was truly getting old and obsolete. To his dead shock, the expression on his usual rival turned to that of extreme panic. He saw the sole Orlan in Far East stared at the direction he just casually pointed out longer, probably switching the infrared mode on within his eyes.

“No way… it’s a fire!!!” the old project 1143 had never heard such panic in in Lazarev’s usually confident voice before.

“Crap… of all the time! Why now!!!” Lazarev tossed the folder full of paperwork away. He went through it. None of the documents was important enough to weigh over this. With no need for instruction, the ‘eagle’ swooped head first toward the dorm. “Commander! Please alert the humans!”

“Fuck… of course!!!” As fast as his failing body could, the aging flagship rushed back to the HQ building.

  


Tales from prior to his deployment in the Pacific Fleet referred to a unit belonged to the Air Force. Under the lack of consciousness in sleep mode, a MiG-25 was smuggled by a defecting technician, taking the android all the way to Japan. That was an immeasurable loss for the USSR’s Armed Forces. It also highlights the risk androids couldn’t avoid when sleep mode engaged - they were pretty much at the mercy of the surroundings and humans overseeing their safety.

No, their system wouldn’t automatically restart on its own in the face of danger. The heat sensors on their body wouldn’t work, so did hearing sensory or the sensors in the nose to distinguish smells and chemical components in the air…

In short, those who were sleeping would be burned beyond repair before they even became aware of the fire.

  


  


A fire inside their base was the last thing the fleet commander wanted at this moment. The grueling economy not only attacked the combat readiness of androids, it also swallowed the funding for emergency internal units like firefighting. On the typical protocol, to eliminate fire in the building holding equipment vital to androids, they would use special foam in firefighting as opposed to water which thoroughly ruins those delicate electronic components.

Clenching his fists… the human with highest authority in the base fully realized it was futile… the foam hadn’t been replenished for years. What they had on hands would never be enough.

Right now it was a gamble. To leave those androids and equipment be destroyed by fire or water?

In his hardest decision to make, he contacted the internal emergency unit. “Get to the androids’ dorm. Douse it with water. Now.”

  


The commotion was, of course, too large to escape Panteleyev who isolated himself in one corner on the waterfront. Thick fumes of black smoke rose against the lighter grayish sky. Yet no one, at all, thought of approaching him with the idea to have him help with whatever was needed. Not like he cared to help either…

Besides, if this fleet fell apart, they might reconsider the prospect of transferring him back to Kaliningrad.

Therefore, in contrast to the chaos inside the base, Panteleyev stayed put in his usual spot. The humans should already appreciate him for not taking this opportunity to break free.

  


* * *

  


“Break down all the doors! Break down all the doors!!!” Order from Lazarev echoed in the hallway filled with frantic androids joining forces to rescue their sleeping family, friends and colleagues.

“Wh—what about those guys in the basement?!” Someone shouted in urgency. Not even the Orlan who took the leader role had a prompt answer to it.

“Rescue the guys in sleep mode first! For those in the basement… ask the human commanders outside which… one—”

Lazarev’s powerful voice faded… for he knew it might be impossible to get all of them out. Yet again with this disgusting and disheartening choosing game. 

“Roska is on the third floor!” Noticing how the dire situation discouraged their usually confident and energetic Orlan, Fokin yelled over the sounds of an incoming siren to shake Lazarev out of his stupor. “I can’t make it alone. Minya, come with me to get Roska!”

Not even letting him have a chance to accept or refuse, the aged cruiser at his last active period snatched the stronger cruiser by the forearm, leading him to the stairs.

“Rescue everyone on the second floor, quickly! I’ll survey the third floor!” Barked the unit in the cream-colored uniform before he disappeared in the thick black smoke to the upper floor. 

“You saw… where’s the source of the fire?” Chervona Ukrayna’s roommate asked on their desperate journey to the third floor.

“Fourth floor,” Lazarev’s voice answered in a huff. “Vitalik, I’m afraid…”

Taking how hesitating the black-haired secretary-in-training was to reveal what he asked for. Fokin got a terrible prediction.

“Don’t tell me… the Krechets’ room!?”

They reached the third floor. Even as androids, they still found the surroundings difficult to move in. The thickness of smoke was overpowering, as with the chemical fume that could easily knock out humans half dead in a few breaths. 

  


  


Outside, gradually a number of motionless androids were brought out. Their conscious family, friends and colleagues were out of wit what to do next. Fire engines blaring the horns, forcing the already overwhelmed active units to quickly move their unconscious members off to a safe distance. For seconds, relief flushed over them, but then…

“Sir?! You can’t use water!!!”

Panic once again swept over the androids. Water… and their sleeping comrades would be in grave danger. Not to mention those in the basement where logically would become a sort of collecting point for all the liquid used in firefighting.

“We don’t have any other choice! The foam is in shortage!!! If we don’t use water we can’t put out the fire!”

The pain in the mortal personnel of the firefighting division was equally evident. Right now, the same level of despair was shared by both the living and artificial-living entities of the Pacific Fleet. What had their once mighty fleet become… after the collapse of the USSR? In a total helpless state, androids watched water shoot off the hoses toward the building they called home… with many of their kind still trapped inside… especially in the basement.

  


Among those already safely outside were the Fregat clan. Vinogradov was still in deep sleep, but Shaposhnikov and Tributs went in with the intention that they wouldn’t allow their beloved Nikolka to be lost at any cost. Spiridonov wasn’t in the shape to join the rescue, for he might become a burden to his two younger brothers there instead.

A hand tugged on the eldest Fregat shoulder. And Em turned to see some of the high-ranked commanders arriving to observe the situation.

“Take Vinogradov to the flagship office,” whispered one of them. “Go.”

Turned out, another commotion settled inside the flagship office. Engineers were called back to work at full capacity to wake the androids up through manual computer command connected through ports. The commanding officers assigned Shaposhnikov and Tributs to help transport those already rescued to the HQ building along with another pair of active androids. The rest… to find and rescue more inactive units in the dorm. Priority was on those engaged in sleep mode. Those in the basement… would be brought out by the order of the commander which units they saw the need to incorporate into their future plan for the fleet.

“Where’s Lazarev?!” A fainted fear struck the humans. Lazarev… with his internal nuclear reactor, could be both a blessing and curse. More true than ever at this moment.

“He’s still inside! Trying to rescue Chervona Ukrayna, sir!” Answered a unit from frigate subtype who was about to rush into the building to help with evacuating their unconscious fleet members.

“Good lord…” groaned a man with the second highest rank in the mortal group.

“He best escapes unscathed. We can’t afford… a nuclear-powered unit damaged by fire. We can’t… have something akin to the incident with Komsomolets, but right on the land in Vladivostok!”

  


  


“Minya! We better go quick! The fire is spreading from the fourth floor!”

“Yeah, I know! The heat on the wall can’t be missed!”

The two cruisers staggered along the hallway, at this moment covered by darkness from the smoke. Still entirely oblivious to the chaos unfolding, that frame in a unique red uniform shirt limped against the shoulders of his friend and roommate. By now Lazarev and Admiral Fokin search for the stairs, relying solely on their internal stored memory of the floor layout. Heat sensor mode was useless now.

“Avoid touching the rail. The metal is probably super heated now it’s going to ruin our artificial skin. I don’t think even my glove can offer any protection.”

Thus they took the stairs by the middle, with Lazarev shouldering most of the Atlant’s weight. 

While still on the stairs, they felt water begin to drop on them. They couldn’t visually identify it, but where else would the water come from if not from the stairs to the fourth floor… thus the fourth floor itself was already flooded with water?

Another wave of unsettling thought occurred to them.

“What the— they aren’t supposed to use water according to the protocol?!” yelled Fokin.

“Vitalik, forget it for now! We need to get Roska out fast before the water will make the stairs slippery!”

They might be androids, stronger and physically durable than humans. Still, there were aspects where sometimes humans naturally exceeded them; the flexibility of their body to quickly rebalance themselves was one of those. If their footing lost balance on here because of the slippery surface caused by water, they’d inevitably crash down without a chance. That would complicate the situation.

With their best to move the fastest as their surrounding and capability allowed, finally they made it out… to another chaos unfolded to their eyes.

  


They never expected to see this. At this minute even Minsk, with his crumbling body, frantically slung the lighter body of his sleeping subordinate on his back for the quick journey to his own office. The smaller, more agile units headed back into the building straight to the basement for those the higher-ups wished to save. “Fokin! Lazarev!!! Thanks heaven!” A sharp yell from the admiral greeted them over other noises of commotion around them.

“Sir! How many we already got out!? Who else we need to save?” By that, the Orlan whose cream-colored uniform darkened by soot meant those in the basement. There was no chance for anyone on the fourth floor…

“None of your concern.” For a short while, his system couldn’t process that seemingly unrelated answer. “You’re NOT to go back there again. Period. Help move those rescued to HQ building.”

“But… why, sir! My physical condition is still well! I need to go in, sir!”

“No!! YOU WILL NOT!” It was a rare time when the admiral shouted and it was deafening despite his age. Even though it wasn’t directed at them, the other androids still got nervous. “Don’t think you’re immune to everything! Your nuclear fuel is a disadvantage right now!!! Don’t you remember what happened to Komsomolets?! Do you want to save your comrades but kill us humans?!?”

  


The last sentence was as if a pack of nuclear warhead missiles hit him at once.

  


To see their beloved Orlan being confronted by the harsh truth was disheartening for the rest of the androids around the spot, yet they could only continue with the more urgent tasks they were facing.

Fokin knelt down by the body of Chervona Ukrayna they laid down on the ground. As far as he sought around, Novorossiysk was nowhere in sight. 

Had he been rescued and moved to the HQ as the admiral instructed…?

No, how could that be possible? Novorossiysk along with Minsk were the largest units, hence extra weight. Even with several of the destroyer and frigate units… it’d be too demanding for the level of cooperation to execute. Minsk might be able to rescue his brother… but only if his condition was in his prime.

A hand under the artificial skin undamaged by the flame but still worn out from age and the lack of maintenance pressed down on the body of his roommate. What kind of vicious destiny awaited this boy once he woke up?

He was about to lose him and Minsk. Not Novorossiysk, too.

  


“Let’s… move Roska to the HQ, Vitalik.”

The old cruiser from the shipyard later ‘gave birth’ to the Sarych clan and Tributs felt a hand on his shoulder. A hand with a glove. 

  


Giving up because he could never go against an order, the present oldest active member of project 1144 hung his head low. Hair with the color darker than soot on his light-colored uniform hung along the gravity, covering his face. That frame of 188 centimeters tall crouched down, with his back toward the red cruiser from the region now belonged to Ukraine. Fokin helped position his own roommate and once again, the two of them took Chervona Ukrayna away.

After that, Lazarev went back time and time again. He tirelessly shouldered the weight of many smaller fleet mates to the operation to wake them up inside Minsk’s office.

For those units forced to awake through manual command, they were greeted by desolation. The scene of the devastation was too much for their brain to proceed after merely waking up, with the memory of them ‘going to bed’ right inside the dorm was the last recorded in their system. Judging from this reaction, both Lazarev and Minsk asked the overworking engineers to postpone waking up their ‘Roska’. 

The sooner he woke up, the faster his morale would sink further. Let him be the last to know…

At one point, the two weary units, for years had been on the opposing side, stood watching the smoke over their ‘home’. Briefly spared a glance at his ‘Orlan nemesis’, Minsk couldn’t miss the pain on his face. The message was obvious.

This wasn’t even a war. Yet how many colleagues he failed to save?

“Minya.” There was no sound from the one called. He just silently turned to look at the other unit with the same height.

  


“The fleet… is yours.”

  


* * *

  


  


Late morning had turned to late afternoon by the time the fire localized. Not betraying their expectation, as much as the androids wish it would, the vast storage space… the ‘body room’ indeed flooded with water coming down from upper floors.

They lost close to a hundred of their comrades in one day.

  


And beyond painful, among them was Novorossiysk. On the fourth floor.

  


Committee was set up to investigate the happening. They concluded a faulty, aging electronic wiring in the gyrfalcons’ room short circuited, thus starting the fire. Novorossiysk had no chance… he barely entered sleep mode two hours before.

Days afterward, none of the androids got to sleep… not like they physically needed it… or did they? Part of the third floor suffered damage, and the fourth was mostly burned out. Slowly, the clearing and cleaning process took place. Water gradually drained from the underground level, now entirely became more of a ‘junkyard’ than storage for future reactivation of several units. The eldest Fregat was fortunately moved out by his brothers in time. However, it left in question whether his return would be possible any time soon… or if at all.

According to the provisional plan, the dorm would still provide residency to the androids, just now they’d move all to the second floor which survived with minimal damage. The third would be partially under closure. The fourth, entirely restricted.

Surely, the structure was also affected by the fire. Yet the fleet commanding level had no other choice. They already struggled to maintain the fleet and feed their human personnel. The proposal to demolish the old dorm and build a new, even smaller one, was out of question.

Later on, inspection of ‘what was left’ of Novorossiysk commenced. Upon being given a review, Minsk’s mental state suffered heavily from guilt.

Had he not awakened earlier, Novorossiysk wouldn’t get told by him to enter sleep mode.

If he hadn’t woken up, the one lost in fire… would be him. The fleet would have less to lose in that scenario since he was retiring, anyway.

Instead, the fire robbed them Novorossiysk who should lead the fleet in place of him. And even with this significant loss… by summer, he was still heading for the fate he couldn’t avoid.

  


Someday soon, the humans would send a team of technicians to work on removing the third ‘gyrfalcon’ from the scene. Because of his weight of over a ton and how they feared the structure of the fourth floor might collapse trying to withstand the weight of androids sending up to help with the task, humans alone would do this. That meant the complete removal of Novorossiysk’s body in one piece was impossible. And what the higher-ups had in mind… was to dismantle him right there in the room, then proceed to transport the parts down piece by piece.

That darn smart-mouth brother of his… reduced to a literal heap of metals.

Why… it should have been HIM.

  


“Commander!!! Knock it off before I knock you on your rear!”

  


A shout, with a zero effort in hiding the negative emotion behind it, jolted Minsk out of his loop of destructive thoughts. Standing in front of his desk, once the older ‘gyrfalcon’ finally quitted his fixated to the wooden surface of it, with an extraordinary furious frown was Lazarev.

“Did I… say it out loud?” Had this affected him so terribly he lost the awareness if he still possessed the control over his various bodily parts the entire time?

Those hands in the gloves slammed right on the deck, an unusually forceful action they didn’t take frequently. “No. But I can tell what preoccupied your system! Enough with the blaming yourself and wish it was better if you were the one there!”

He knew Lazarev was right. Although this ‘regret’ might seem logical, the more logical issue was to accept that this loss was permanent. And they should start planning life realistically with it.

“Fine… okay,” he conceded, not that his usual sore-loser streak gave up because of this incident.

He didn’t have much time left. 

And it’d be wiser to spend every minute with utmost usefulness. Training up his witty-mouth Orlan rival, putting strategies for handling Panteleyev, composing a list of priority… in case their internal funding trouble could get worse. Again, the ‘choosing to survive’ game Minya hated so much… likely to continue as he foresaw it.

“And… where’s that red kid?”

  


At last, Chervona Ukrayna did wake up. To say the thus far deepest loss of his young life devastated him was very much an understatement. How else to describe when a unit barely slipped out of slumber mode promptly requested to go back into that mode where one was completely cut off from reality?

Strangely, despite the lowest morale he suffered, their Rostislav didn’t show any intention to run away again. And Lazarev could only think of one reason for it…

Minsk. And here he constantly said negativity about himself.

  


A frown stuck on Lazarev’s face. Chervona did mean red. How did it qualify? Did Minsk just merely call Roska by half of his, unfortunately, still official name or was it constituting for bullying?

“Vitalik is trying to cheer him up but,” silent. Those words he planned for didn’t come out.

And when they did, in a boom with frustration. “How is he supposed to be that you expect?! Three of you! Novorossiysk! You! And Vitalik!!! All leaving him at once!!!” 

“Not like I can do anything to it.” The current commander who got forced to carry over until his designated retirement snapped at that accusative tone used on him. Yet, miraculously, in the absence of their usual peacemaker between them, Minsk calmed down astonishingly fast. “With the financial situation our fleet is in now, coupled with the fire, I think the commanding will cut back the amount patrol missions. Go see the commander, asking them if it’s possible to cut tasks for Roska and have him sleep for months to come.”

Then, in a much lower voice only the sole unit with nuclear power could hear, “Not like we need to obliterate American carrier task force in this region anymore. That shouldn’t be much trouble.”

“I don’t know what is this ‘pray’ thing humans sometimes babble about when they want something to come true. So for us… let’s hope that freaking Slava will come back soon. Waking up to hear that dumb brother return should help lift Roska’s morale.”

  


  


After consulting with the human commanders, they agreed to reduce the number of missions assigned to their still active unit in possession. Other than essential missions required, most of the androids regularly entered sleep. This also helped cut the cost on the fleet on the expense of fuel. Another order was to shut off electricity in the androids’ dorm for safety sake. They had neither funds nor time to overhaul all the aging wirings inside the building. Luckily, the central heating system installed in the building kept rooms warm without the need of electricity.

No one knew if the news of Novorossiysk’s fate reached Kuzma in the Northern Fleet. For certain, none of the androids had the courage to pick up the phone. Hence pretending they just ‘honored’ his request of not wanting to be contacted once he transferred to Murmansk.

And another duty on Lazarev was to trail after Panteleyev, always keeping eyes on the disobedient Fregat any time he wasn’t in the sleep mode. Life of the youngest member of project 1155 so far revolved around the orders enforced by password; whether being sent on a patrol mission against his will or entering sleep.

Until June arrived, it would be an exhausting period for Minsk, fighting a battle he knew he’d lose anyway…

  


* * *


	32. Life Prolonging Amidst the Ruins

  


  


“You memorize the route to Vladivostok?” 

  


This overly worried tone of voice… K-433 heard it for the first time ten years ago. Back then, under enormous pressure of possibility of war, he picked the worst time ever to have an accident en route to Kamchatka from the Arctic Ocean. Granted, all ended well. The price he needed to pay was a nose that technicians saw no need to repair it other than making sure it could still shut off water when he dove underwater.

“Have faith in me, K-223. I completed the inter-fleet transition from Murmansk!”

In front of the auburn-haired squid, another nearly identical unit except for the blond hair didn’t look convinced. How could he… the last time was terrible.

“The USSR maybe no more, but foreigners best not fuck around with us. And Yelizovo best not fail us again.”

Through gritted teeth, the tenth squid confessed his wariness. A soft, hopeless gaze from the younger unit settled on his brother. Then the soon-departing unit shook his head. “You don’t believe in Gavriil one bit, do you? It will hurt him to know…”

“Nah, Gavriil is one thing, the competency of humans in that air base is another. Unless he can somehow order humans around… which is… practically impossible even for those with low ranks. Even though he said...” Two pairs of hazel eyes glanced farther inland to the northwest from their own base. The promotion to commander rank their MiG friend had told them still not yet materialized.

“Besides, I’m afraid he might kill humans in his base if they mess up again.” Yet another confirmation of the older squid’s suspicion of Gavriil’s ability to keep a promise.

  


To think they would ever meet a fellow android who outright announced he might attack humans if the situation called for was unimaginable progress of their lives. While they valued his friendship, they wondered which side they would stand for. Even if the humans were at fault, they had no right to take the matter into their hands. Upon their own secret agreement, if they ever got caught in such a situation — they’d stop Gavriil. He might think they betray him, but their logic would be that they valued him and wanted to prevent him from receiving capital punishment for the gravest crime an android could commit.

  


“Anyway… what face should I make? When I reach Vladivostok?”

Without fail and without secret, the grim news of the fire which robbed them of their supposedly next flagship reached Vilyuchinsk as well.

Grimaced, the unit who spent a few days there before he returned to Kamchatka thought back to last April. He didn’t think it would be the last time he saw Novorossiysk. What to instruct K-433? He was out of wit.

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine the depth of despair they are in. The guys in the basement were lost, too.”

Having nothing else to instruct, the two siblings concluded they could finalize their farewell chat. From then on in silence, saved for click and clack noises of equipment and armaments being fastened to K-433’s frame, the departure was drawing near. Tugboat androids also prepared to guide the younger squid to the channel leading toward the Pacific Ocean.

Slowly descending to the freezing cold water of early February, that head with auburn hair, now turned a shade darker due to wetness, turned to look at his sibling one last time. Because of how the Avacha Bay usually froze during winter, the non-combatant aides had to look out for the ice floes while clearing paths for this particular unit who had had an unlucky experience with ice before. K-223 also refused to leave, despite the fierce frigid wind. That accident under the Chukchi Sea added something to K-433’s personality; an unusual consciousness toward thick ice. For today, the ice sheet they could see grazing the surface of Avacha Bay was still paper thin. Hence the twelfth unit should take advantage of this mildly favorable weather.

  


“I’ll call once I arrive in Vladivostok.”

  


That wasn’t the chief concern inside the older’s system. As his younger brother drifted farther, the ‘ice’ covering K-223’s cool and collected exterior shattered. Stomping to the end of the pier, he hollered against the wind.

  


“You must return! No matter how many years it takes to complete your repair, you must!”

  


He halted himself before embarrassingly mentioning what promise they made a pact in their base’s armaments storage back in 1983. Instead, he just shouted, “We don’t survive the Cold War to be separated by… this.”

To his plea, he only saw a nod from that head bobbing above the water. Was there a vocal answer? He wondered if it got swept away by the wind.

  


* * *

  


Just a little over a week as February passed to its final week, the next squid to receive repair already walked in Vladivostok base. No surprise, the atmosphere was indeed gloomy. Everyone he met did their best to be nice and friendly, yet the trace of the suffering they went through less than a month ago was still visible on the surface.

As a unit operating on nuclear-powered, thankfully he didn’t need sleep during his stay prior to entering the shipyard. As such, he helped Lazarev with what he needed.

“Sorry for the… unsightly state we’re in, K-433. Everything went down so fast…” For a unit who always radiated positivity and confidence, their lone Orlan’s voice at this minute filled with dejection and fatigue. So unlike his usual voice the submarine had heard before in their encounter near the Kamchatka Peninsula years earlier.

“No, I… understand,” struggling, the visiting Kalmar wasn’t sure how to word his answer. If he said ‘it’s okay’ or ‘I don’t mind’, it could sound like he made light of the suffering his colleagues in Vladivostok went through.

  


Inside the HQ building, they helped human personnel sort out armaments and equipment of those lost — either from the unfortunate consequence of firefighting or age. Each decision to make depended on the higher-ups and they were far from easy. Armaments were the most problematic; if not stored properly the ammunition could raze the base — a lesson they learned from the similar misfortune befell the Northern Fleet in 1984. Yet, they might need them… as the lone source of spare parts for those of the same project still in active duty.

Neither Lazarev nor K-433 knew anything about the Severomorsk disaster more than from mere words of their siblings and friends. Apparently, K-44 was the chain that connected both of them to the incident.

“He’s super chatty,” mentioned the second Orlan.

“He sure is,” replied the slightly older Kalmar than the mentioned unit with a smile. “Also energetic to the point of headache. Especially when paired with how rash he is.”

“Some of your siblings who served in the Northern Fleet for most of their time got transferred here. Think he might do the same?”

“Hm… I have no idea. Would be nice, I want him to meet K-223.” Small pause, then continued, “I never knew K-455 and K-490 until I arrived. They left before I even awakened. Getting to know siblings is always pleasant… it’s too bad many times an unfavorable timeline prevents us from achieving that.”

  


Work stopped when the supervisor signaled it was time for a break. More precisely, lunch for humans. Lazarev, as now trainee flagship, excused himself to check the dorm. After the fire, he paid even more attention to scrutinize their living accommodation on a daily basis. Anything deemed untrustworthy would be reported to the human commander at once to be replaced right away or made a preventative measure without delay. Meanwhile, K-433 thought of looking around to observe the changes to the base.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Snide tone accompanied that inquiry from the highest-ranked man, toward the Kalmar.

“Erm, I just thought… at the time of hardship like this, should I still have ‘lunch’, sir?” 

At his own base back in Vilyuchinsk, the meal for androids there had pretty much reduced to just broth and a tiny portion of finely chopped potato. Granted, Vladivostok, being on the ‘mainland’ with rail and road connections to other parts of the country, might not suffer from food shortage as terribly as it was for Kamchatka.

The plump captain shook his head, “Nonsense. Go to eat. The protocol doesn’t allow such foolish reasons to skip your duty.”

“Understood, sir,” the survey needed to be on hold for now. But then he caught the captain mumbling as he walked away, “For the love of—one problematic unit is already tiring enough.” Just what did he mean there?

Should he wait for the Orlan? Considered this would be the last occasion they’ll see each other until… who knows? Seeing it took his brother a full six-year period to redeploy after his repair, K-433 wasn’t too optimistic his own repair would complete faster.

If his was to go on as long, then he wouldn’t get out of Bolshoy Kamen until the last year of the 90s.

Recalling how K-223 got to befriend their Orlan colleague during the period he came to Vladivostok to report to the commander, the squid with redder hair than that of the unit returned last year mused if he should follow that step. Unlike back in 1985, though, the situation nowadays wasn’t too promising. If he was to seek new friends in this base, he hoped their friendship would be a long-lasting one. It would defeat the effort if he returned from the repair to find out the friends he made today were prematurely retired by the insufficient funding.

Anyhow, far away in Kamchatka, he caught wind of the roster update in Pacific Fleet’s principal base. His brother also mentioned a bit of it—the change within the Fregat clan. A year ago they lost Zakharov. Back then, the transition from the Baltic Fleet of the newest Fregat unit was still a rumor. The visitor from beyond the Okhotsk Sea heard he was now presented in their fleet…

  


To cut loose the Captain’s scrutinizing on him, the soon-inactive submarine walked off in the direction to the canteen. Once passed halfway though, he deviated from his route to near the waterfront. He thought he spotted someone lounged there…

With this abysmal hardship, few units roamed around the territory inside the base’s fence. It was so easy to notice a figure against empty space. Sure, it was different in the areas when humans and non-humans mingled regularly — the waterfront, though, hardly had any business for humans to come nearby. Thus exactly as K-433 anticipated, soon a frame cladding in a uniform signature to the Fregat clan came into view. Brown hair, he noted, was not among the older units he was already acquainted with. Zakharov’s was dark brown, Spiridov’s dark blond, Tributs’ reddish brown, Shaposhnikov’s reddish blond and Vinogradov’s matched Novorossiysk’s light brown shade. To a conclusion, the Kalmar predicted this must be Panteleyev.

He didn’t realize Minya left out an important detail, figuring the temporary visitor did not need to be aware of it.

His steps brought him within a few meters from the seemingly lonesome figure. From his own experience, there was no way the sensors in control of the newest Fregat wouldn’t pick up his presence—the minor tremor of androids’ signature hundreds kilogram-range always alerted each and every unit of their ‘compatriot’ nearby. If one is not so preoccupied by some other thing. 

  


“Hello, are you Panteleyev?”

  


Rather than instant response, the bearer of that name only ever so sluggishly moved to react after near a half minute. When his voice materialized, ‘friendly’ would be the farthest term to accurately describe it. “What do you need?”

Since there was no refusal, at least K-433 didn’t get the wrong person. Did he bother him? “I apologize for intruding. My name is K-433, and I just arrived from Kamchatka. For a scheduled repair, you see. I wish to know if we could… perhaps have lunch together? Of course you can turn down if you already had lunch or—” Using his best friendly tone and calmly explained his reason for the intrusion, he certainly did not expect the tone of reply he received next.

“Is ‘I don’t care to socialize with you’ an option for my answer?” Taken aback by the aggressive snark out of nowhere, the first command inside the submarine’s system was to retrace his actions and find out which step went wrong. That was a mistake on his part. Confrontation just never his strong point, yet it was something Panteleyev wasn’t shy away from enacting. Before his system could issue a command to physical reaction, the young Fregat already got on his feet, closing in far too soon. Though the auburn-haired Kalmar stood two inches above the fleet’s trouble maker and had a weight advantage, none of them deterred the wrong determined Fregat away from the intention of creating another ruckus. Still, the more peaceful unit asked for forgiveness, not realizing that precise thing never been given to anyone in this fleet, ever.

Hands commanded by rage grabbed the neck half bare, half covered by synthetic material of the wetsuit. If K-433’s uniform was anything similar to the fabric cover worn by surface ship units, it might already get torn off by the brute force of the disobedient newbie’s attack. The struggle appeared to be more one-sided. Not knowing what he did to offend the unfamiliar Fregat unit, the twelfth ‘squid’ hesitated to engage in full power, even to free himself.

A hand went missing from his neck. It drew backward to form a fist. In Panteleyev’s burning gray eyes, he already decided to make sure this oblivious unit should never wish to bother him again.

  


**“Yuriy! Don’t do it!!!”**

  


That sudden voice boomed out of the hazel-colored lenses’ range. In the period it didn’t occur to the underwater android under attack whether he had heard it before or who was his incoming rescuer.

Not until a figure darted in to shield him from that punch. Not until a solid crank of metallic structure forcefully came in contact with each other and a white navy officer hat fell off a head of light brown shade. Novorossiysk…? No, it couldn’t be. Despite the same shade of brown hair and pristine white upper garment.

It was Vinogradov.

  


The force of the punch was enough to send the closest older Fregat to fall into the submarine’s steadier body. However, even as he lost balance, the unit received in 1989 did the only thing he deemed vital for protecting his submarine colleague and grasped at his younger sibling’s wrist still on the Kalmar’s neck.

“Ni—Nikolka! Are you alright!” If he wasn’t an artificial humanoid being, the hand in his neck would cause enough trouble to croak those words of concern out loud.

Instead, Vinogradov wasn’t concerned to give an answer. What he aimed to accomplish first was to free Panteleyev’s grip off the ‘innocent’ victim of his family member’s senseless wrath. It didn’t take long. Just as the visitor from Avacha Bay helped steady the half-fallen Fregat, the other Fregat’s hand released. And right there, it was sure a strange scene. Two ‘submarine hunter’ units stood staring at each other with anything but harmony, one with a submarine right behind him—in his hopeful protection.

“Yuriy…” again with such… distant addressing. K-433 caught the hint of a rift between brothers. For such hostility to happen to a likeable person like Vinogradov, it was heartbreaking. “Forgive him. He knows nothing of your trouble. He doesn’t deserve your hateful treatment.” To cover the endangered colleague better, new Vinogradov even pushed himself forward, closing in to the fierce ‘rebel’.

“Come at me if you need to fight with someone to show your defiance. I’ll bear it all. It’s my obligation… really. Don’t make others hate you, I can’t stand that possibility… at all.”

Panteleyev had no intention to listen to that preaching, nor he maintained the momentum to continue his assault. 

“Stupid. You’re no hero here.” Grunted the worst unit who even made his two warring older siblings look tame in comparison. “Make sure you make no mistake again. I won’t tolerate any more nuisance trying to get on my good side. I hate this fleet. Anyone happy with their position in this fleet is my enemy!”

Not explaining those puzzled remarks first, Vinogradov ushered his fleet mate they better leave fast. Pausing just enough to pick up his lost headgear, the battered surface ship in urgency led K-433 away from what was considered ‘Panteleyev’s territory’. The submarine worried for the situation he mindlessly raised. To the next-youngest Fregat though, the punch he suffered was an extremely cheap exchange to get his colleague out of trouble… also for his sole younger brother not to place himself in a worse spotlight in the commanding level’s eyes.

  


* * *

  


Minutes later, both were safely seated in the canteen. Acknowledgement of the commotion also reached the place not long after they got there, as a few wondering glances from human personnel slipped their way. Some must have seen the confrontation. But being mere fragile mortals, they could never try to resolve the aggression themselves.

That was something Vinogradov was grateful for. As long as he prevented Panteleyev from committing the unacceptable crime of harming humans, using himself as a shield time and time again would be a fair bargain.

“I’m deeply sorry for the trouble I stirred, Nikolka. You should… maybe ask for an examination if your facial structure is in good shape.” He might be a veteran with a decade of experience in the Pacific Fleet, a direct physical fight between androids of the same class was still beyond his understanding. The level of damage they can inflict on each other, that was. By his own past of having damaged part of his face during the transition, K-433 rightfully worried for the colleague who rushed in to cover for him.

Moving his jaws in a mocked chewing motion, the Fregat didn’t register any particular anomaly in his lower facial structure. Thus he smiled in return, “My jaws and oral cavity areas seem fine. I hope I can skip that?”

Well… the older unit recognized he had no right to smother his colleague. Didn’t matter how he genuinely cared for Vinogradov’s well-being. That privilege limited to only his family members. With reluctance, the ‘squid’ agreed, “Yeah, I guess… but if anything feels out of place, go check with the maintenance personnel, promise?”

In the end, he couldn’t quite avoid displaying his nurturing side.

Once his advice concluded, the optimism faded from the surface ship’s youthful face. Always being equally considerate, the Kalmar was about to dish an apology when the reason became known. “If my face receives damage, then Yuriy’s hand may also…”

  


Right, indeed that would be a big question. Between hands and head structure, which was stronger to withstand the force of that attack?

And also another obstacle to solve. If Panteleyev’s hand, in fact, damaged, taking him to see maintenance personnel would prove highly exasperating. The heart broken ‘supposed’ older brother for the first time already relayed details of chaos the latest Fregat created. Included the constant usage of password control.

  


“Hey,” a third voice joined them in the android section of the canteen. No other than Lazarev. “I heard what happened. I owe you a big apology for not telling you beforehand, K-433.”

“I won’t hold you in the wrong, Minya. It’s my fault, too. More than that, though, Nikolka shielded me from an attack.” With that said, the dark-haired cruiser immediately checked on his fellow surface ship. Using his piercing, scanning stare, the Orlan spotted a small wear on Vinogradov’s cheek. A patch of uneven surface on the artificial skin. Must be where Panteleyev struck him.

“Nikolka, I recommend seeing the maintenance personnel. If it’s nothing or something minor, they may be able to help right away. Don’t wait until the problem flares up it affects your system. We…”

Did he truly need to bring up the hopeless funding situation their fleet was undergoing? Nikolka knew too well. Because this precise trouble robbed them of Zakharov and several others. Even if Lazarev rather reminded his younger colleague gently, the realization hit the Fregat in full force.

“True… you’re right, Minya. If it becomes a major repair, I may not get it. That was foolish of me to get cocky thinking I’m still on the newer side of our fleet.”

Shifting his neutral-colored eyes to the submarine, Lazarev caught a hint of what thought was going on inside K-433’s inorganic brain through his lingered facial expression. “And NO. You getting hit instead of Nikolka isn’t a wise idea, squid. You may want to argue you’re going for a repair, anyway. I’m not having that.” Day by day the Orlan was gradually settling into being the ‘brain’ of the fleet. The flagship rank would soon be passed from Minsk to the most powerful unit in the eastern fleet, not caring if he wished for it or not. For that, he needed to look at everything thoroughly all the time. This included considering all the worst possible outcomes.

“K-433, you’re coming down here for a repair because you need it. Your internal structure is deteriorating. Until they deactivate you and ‘open you up’, no one has a clue how terrible which part can be more than others. If Nikolka didn’t step in, who knows how many hits Panteleyev can land on you before the stupid me realize you’re in danger. I’ll be honest. I fear one such hit may… send enough force to damage your inorganic brain. Had that happened, you…” Why on earth was he talking about a likelihood of a friend’s death here? Right at this moment he better held up faith that there would be as many survivors as achievable! However, it… might be necessary. Androids like them started life in this world being instilled a sense of ‘invincibility’ into their system by being more resilient than humans.

  


At this time, that illusion must be undone. They were without a doubt not completely invincible. Not if humans weren’t there to make their maintenance realizable.

  


“I don’t know if humans deem you important enough to readily bring back from that ‘brain dead’ state. Even they do… the fund, the manpower. Nothing is like back at the height of the early 80s anymore…”

Finally, Lazarev’s legs gave in on maintaining his grandiose posture. A vacant chair on their table pulled, and the largest unit among the trio sat with full weight on it. “You have a promise with K-223, don’t you? You’ll return to Kamchatka. Don’t devastate him, K-433.”

From that last statement, the sole occupied table in the android section went silent amidst the murmurs of conversations from the human personnel remaining in the base. Not like he ever had any appetite. The bowl of meal for the guest’s lunch was still half full. Seeing how exhausted the current adversity drained Lazarev’s usual energetic self was shocking. But again, who else could endure this many tribulations crashed on them one after another?

“Ah,” another trail of communication started after that. “Finish you lunch soon. Commander and the Admiral wish to see you regarding what happened with Panteleyev. Nothing serious, they just need a clearer picture of what he did to you.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” Spoon picked up again as K-433 intended to finish his meal—only because of the order. He failed to ignore visible weariness on the sole ‘kindred spirit’ in the term of fuel option. To recall how this could very well be the final chance to see Minsk, the unit originated from Severodvinsk saddened by that fact. Meeting his superior one last time… and he’d not be here when Lazarev stepped up to reign as the commander of their fleet. 

Vinogradov volunteered to deal with the empty lunch tray. Thus K-433 was freed from the dulling duty, now seemed more meaningless than ever, to keep up his disguise as ‘human’.

“Thanks again for everything, Nikolka. I’ll see you around.” And the submarine left, leaving the two permanent residents of the Pacific Fleet’s principal base on their own. When the Fregat sent back the tray to where it’d be waiting for cleaning up, even the personnel serving food couldn’t suppress his urge to be opinionated.

“Hey, heard your little brother attacked that submarine? Holy—maybe it’s actually a better idea to send him away?”

He didn’t like that opinion. However, there was nothing else he could say other than maintaining his friendly gesture and refused to directly engage in any prediction. “That would depend on the higher-ups. Unfortunately, even as his sibling, I have no say regarding his future. We’ll try to avert him from harming you. You have my words.” Ending it with a gentle smile, yet Vinogradov was seriously troubled. His sole little brother… was being regarded as a threat.

“Let’s get out, Nikolka,” such expression couldn’t escape the Orlan’s watchful eyes when he returned. No word uttered, just a single movement of head in agreement. Ignoring what glances and looks the unit in a white uniform shirt and black trousers received, they made it out of the canteen fast.

That was when the sly cruiser made another announcement, “I’m taking you to the technician. No buts or anything.”

“Minya, PLEASE.”

Futile, the weak protest went unanswered. After delivering the unit with light brown to the destination, Lazarev found no reason to linger around. “K-223 deserves to know this development. I’m sorry, Nikolka, I must inform him.” An apologetic tone dominated that statement.

“Yes, sure…” disheartened, the Fregat in androids’ equivalent of ‘sick bay’ replied. He wished Panteleyev wouldn’t be introduced to the Kamchatka submarine division like this.

  


Thus the ‘infamous’ last Fregat made himself known at the base of mostly nuclear-powered submarines as ‘someone to watch out for and approach with caution, even if he is ‘on password’ to enable a patrol mission’. Through telephone, Lazarev couldn’t gauge the exact body language from his ‘blond squid’ friend. Of what he was able to make out from voice, K-223 wasn’t thrilled with the happening. Just as Vinogradov anticipated and feared.

  


K-433 bade his Vladivostok-based colleague a goodbye a few days later. Alas, he missed the chance to meet their lone Atlant unit, due to the schedule of putting him out of active state to conserve fuel. Their first meeting must be postponed until the Kalmar with duller reddish hair is released after his much-needed repair.

  


* * *


	33. Breaking Up of an Eastern Boulder

  


  


The end of June finally rolled in, much to the dreadful sensation to the surviving, or at least still active, androids of the Pacific Fleet. The past year had been so exhausting - even when they were all androids who rarely experienced actual physical tiredness. The sudden, unexpected loss of Novorossiysk dealt the most severe blow to them. If their Chervona Ukrayna was little by little initially recovered from the major shock of Ukraine’s independence almost two years ago, the tragedy befell the gentle ‘gyrfalcon’ set him way back into the depth of despair.

In the flagship office, the place Minsk had firmly occupied for over a decade, two frames of the similar build stood to communicate instructions for one last time. Lazarev was to lead their fleet from this day on.

  


“This is weird…” 

  


That was the very same voice Minsk heard for eight years. The voice that he often picked as a signal to always raise up his ‘tough’ facade. Minya had made a poor impression on him ever since that introduction remark about he would protect their state back then.

That remark Minya muttered was for how Minsk didn’t find an opening to yell at him.

Through the dusty and faintly cracked glass panel of the window from the office, soft, warm sunlight streamed into the room. The room Minsk didn’t plan to let the Orlan inherit it, at least while he would still be around, or so he thought. Today there was a foreign element in this place. As an android, Minsk wasn’t bothered by the change of temperature as much as humans were. There was never a need for him to take off his white uniform jacket and hung it on the wall like humans often did.

But today was when he finally needed to hang his jacket… and left it forever.

He was no longer the protected, militarized property of the Navy.

  


Certainly this wasn’t the first time he ever took off his jacket. Just… the first time doing it inside his office. Many times had been done before in that now burned-down room he shared with his sole sibling on the Pacific.

“Well…” a pause. “Take care of everyone we still have left, I guess? Especially our ‘Kimchi’.”

When the unholy nickname echoed inside the confined space, Lazarev was floored. Precisely in this room, Minsk forcefully chewed him for using it and caused the ‘Red Atlant’ to avoid the public for days.

“Why calling him using… that name now?”

“It’s been two years…” Minsk softly muttered. “After all the misfortunes we went through up till now, you think those name-callings will still bother him? Ukraine broke away, Slava is virtually gone… then how we lost Zakharov and Novorossiysk on top of those.”

Lazarev huffed, “Don’t forget to include TODAY. You’re the last pillar for him. The only one to understand his connection to his home region. I can’t fill that shoe. I never been to Sevastopol, let alone Nikolaev. The next closest is probably Bystryy who went to Sevastopol to pick Roska up for the transition… but still, he won’t quite be the same.”

  


“Have enough of lecturing me yet?” A grumpy tone was the core of that retort. “ ** _Mister FLAGSHIP_**.”

That last word was similar to a straight punch in the face for the Orlan. For the eight years they knew each other, today was when their roles were reversed.

  


June 30th 1993, the appointed dated to cross several names from the list of active combatants. As much disheartening as it could be, the first three units of project 1143 went gone altogether at all; Kiev, Minsk… and Novorossiysk. Anticipated a major blow to their sole Atlant member, both Lazarev and Minsk convinced the last surviving unit from Nikolaev it would be better for him not to face this day. Thus, while these two largest units of the eastern fleet conversed, their major worry still slumbered to conserve his fuel.

“Well, admittedly I’m not sure which task will be hardest for you. Convince that redheaded kid to stay put here, with his ridiculous amount of distrust toward the Far East still. Or will it be Panteleyev? That dumb kid triggered situation to have his password utilized like… a fucking mindless. There’s no other word I can think to describe it.”

Without seeing the need for them to argue, the Orlan agreed on the latter issue. “I’d say his behavior is… destructive. Not only to his own self but others around… almost like a drug addict in humans if I understand it correctly.”

“Always take the higher-ranks who get access to his password with you when approach him then. We can’t risk our base to his tantrum.”

That, he had no argument. Fooled by his ‘quiet down’ facade before, the Orlan wasn’t about to be played again—the incident with K-433 showed how the young Fregat considered anyone in the fleet his enemy. In this room, just moments before that deadly fire, Minsk advised him to make a show of force to put Panteleyev down.

At first he might not like that sound of it. But if it was unavoidable, he would do it, now.

“I will keep him under control.” Such an unusual resolution. The retiring older unit gestured his acknowledgement, more calmly than Lazarev ever recalled him responding to his speech.

  


Wearing just the long sleeve white shirt and black tie now, Minsk probably resembled a governmental office worker more than a military android. Without military immunity as a ‘combat-ready warfare equipment’, today he turned into a ‘resemblance of human made from metals’ with no rank and authority. The latter transferred to Minya. And who knew how long the former clause would still hold true… until he got reduced to heaps of assorted inorganic pieces just like Novorossiysk.

“Let’s get going then. The sooner I’m out of this base, the sooner the freedom you have to do what is needed for our fleet to survive.”

Although with his brows frowned, the remaining largest combatant forced his lips tightly shut. This was the ultimate day he could honor his superior for the past eight years. They moved out from the office, through the dimmed corridor when some lingering human personnel on duty stole a brief glance at them; mostly for the sight of their last ‘carrier unit’ than at the member of the famous ‘Orlan’ clan.

The departure of Minsk was yet another milestone of greatness their fleet lost.

  


Tremor from two units of combined weight over two tons signaled the last active units who gathered today for the solemn occasion. All of them would bid farewell to their now former superior, but not every one of them would stay behind—a few more also facing their closing end of existence. Among them was Admiral Fokin.

Sweeping his frowned gaze over the group, the eldest ‘Nikolaev-born’ noted the absence of the youngest of that dying group. Chervona Ukrayna was on his own from today on.

Exchanges between colleagues of many years prevailed on the scene. Those leaving were the center of attention, though Minsk received the most with apparent reason. Despite the state of their fleet, his tenancy as flagship was the best any unit could manage amidst so many troubles not from their own doings. Eyes, under stealth movement, watched Lazarev with both expectations and worries. Being near ignored was the presence of fleet commanders, who came to see off their ‘equipment with a human appearance’, observing the androids’ interaction from nearby.

“And Roska?” How’d that scaredy kid handle his absence…

“Still sleeping, sir. I can assure you, he is in deep sleep mode when I leave the room.” Reported Fokin, who spent his last few days as a property of the navy by watching his slumbering roommate. “This is for the best.”

“Well, yeah…” funny Minsk actually agreed. “I might knock him on his rear if he gets irrational again and try to prevent me from leaving. Won’t be so memorable for him.”

  


Several more minutes went by before the auxiliary, non-combatant androids got onto the surface to help guide the retiring one out of the base for one last time. Footing equipment attached, one by one those aging relics of the height of the USSR Navy stepped off the concrete pier for their journey to the facility at the Abrek Bay, a small, secluded bay across the Bay of Ussuriysk. There, they’d be deactivated, then gradually dismantled.

Novorossiysk, or what was left of him, would soon be shipped there, too.

  


  


Hundreds of meters away, there was a subtle crack of curtain from a room in the semi-ruined dormitory building.

Burnyy decided to skip the event. He didn’t feel like going there; Boyevoy was also in his sleep and his condition worsened rapidly lately. Since summer had returned, the lack of electricity inside the dorm wasn’t so much of a hardship as before. Central heating switched off, and daylight lengthened considerably.

Bezboyaznennyy and Stoykiy were out there, Bystryy was in meantime sleeping. Only Osmotritelnyy wasn’t around to even acknowledge the change of power among their circle. He paused his pacing along the hallway, looking at the room where his ‘surrogate brother’ became the sole resident from now. The shuffling… who would move in here? And how long before that was approved… the compact body in black marine uniform couldn’t resist peeking inside. He was greeted by a surprise.

  


“Roska? How-how long have you been awake?!”

  


Before him was the owner of red hair and red uniform shirt, half propping on bed with his upper body toward the curtained window. Apparently, snooping on the ‘farewell ceremony’ outside.

“I-I’m sorry if… I’m doing what everyone expects me not to, Burnyy.” In that feeble voice was assorted hints of emotion. Confusion. Fear. And, strangely, a trace of determination. The Sarych moved closer to also peer through the fabric barrier, witnessing the veterans leaving. Standing out in the middle of the huddle with his cream-colored uniform and calm sea-shaded cape was Lazarev, officially their current flagship.

“Minya… he’s magnificent as an Orlan on his own. And his personality is the best. But the situation we’re in is no less too heavy for him…” Lamented the Leningradskiy, whose hometown by now no longer known by the part before -skiy suffix.

So much was going through the third Atlant’s system. He wanted to say ‘We’ll help him’ but up to that point no one would believe he himself could be of any help. Not that he was completely oblivious. Minsk and Vitalik must instruct Minya to take care of him. Him. A cruiser type. On a newer side which meant he possessed a low chance of suffering malfunction from degenerating components even.

“Are you going back to sleep?”

Under the veil of silence, the one whose name meant ‘storm’ couldn’t read what precisely occupied Chervona Ukrayna’s processing function. “Yes, I plan to. Before Minya comes back…” Burnyy saw nothing wrong with that. Perhaps their Roska just wanted to memorize the departure of Minsk in his own way—

  


His thought stuck by what he heard next. “Burnyy… what should I do? What am I to do if I want to be less of a burden to Minya?”

  


What should he suggest here??? Fumbling to answer, Burnyy just stood looking at his surrogate brother with a dumbfounded expression. Took a while before he found his voice again. “You have already done it, Roska.”

No sign from the last cruiser from Nikolaev that he comprehended that answer. Hence he elaborated, “For staying put here, with us, in Vladivostok. Despite the loss of both Commander Minsk and Novorossiysk. This is the first time you’re truly ‘alone’ here…” His sympathetic voice pressed a stress on the next clause. “Yet you’re not thinking of leaving. Wherever it could be, maybe Severomorsk so you could be with Ustinov.”

Those gray-blue eyes stole a vision from the narrow slit between curtains one more time, seeing how most figures outside stayed in place.

“It’s been almost two years…” since the time his home region emerged as a new country. “The last I heard from Slava was exactly two years and two months ago. I don’t know if we already lost Slava but…”

“Losing Novorossiysk is more painful. It’s like…” he paused. “I hate that now I’m saying this. Slava is my brother, but I feel what’s happening in Sevastopol with the Black Sea Fleet is the least of my concern. For now, I want to focus on… what’s happening around here. Bystryy, you and your other brothers, Minya, Nikolka…”

“In a way, I don’t find that weird,” consoled the hardly older, by service year wise, Sarych. 

“There’s a chance that your eldest brother is alive and well—just that we couldn’t find a way to communicate with him yet. With Novorossiysk, we lost him permanently. With utterly zero hope of his return. No wonder your system assesses it as ‘more painful’.” Another movement of the frame in a plain black uniform leaning to look through the fabric wall, observing the progress of their active comrades.

Seeing they slowly dispersed, meaning time for Chervona Ukrayna’s unnoticed awakening had to cease soon, Burnyy placed a gentle pat on the third Atlant’s shoulder.

  


“Stay with us, will you? Don’t pull the sudden runaway attempt again. You’ll hurt Bystryy.”

  


Right, that was the hindsight of his first attempt, which fortunately was botched by the combined effort of Lazarev and the late third ‘gyrfalcon’. After a brief thought, that head of bright red hair nodded. “As long as… our fleet swore allegiance to Moscow. Commander Minsk wants me to stay, so I shall honor his wish.”

“He would accept your determination. Too bad you didn’t go to see him face-to-face today…” Obviously the lone Atlant in the east secretly modified his sleep command to wake up exactly on today on purpose. For whatever reason he refused to just let this day slip past his consciousness quietly, Burnyy was at a loss. Did he wish to say farewell to Minsk and Vitalik but lost his courage at the last minute?

From their spying eyes, the major group of their colleagues, including Minya, was heading back to the dorm. “Alright, go back to sleep. I won’t let a word out.”

“Thank you. See you in… a month?”

“Yeah, see you, Roska.” Burnyy bade him a good night then slipped out.

  


Going back to sleep was a far simple decision the ‘Red Ukraine’ could make right now. Alone in the silent room, the first thing he saw when he woke up was a neatly made other bed—one belonged to his roommate until a few hours ago. Vitalik was gone, forever. The much older android who tried unsuccessfully to open him up from the silent ‘barrier’ he locked himself in. This… was almost the same as back then. Probably was the condition which made him relax back then even; to see his roommate away hence he could just indulge in his own thought of why he disliked the Far East.

Fast forward two and almost a half years, he found the absence of his roommate unbearable. Despite knowing all too well this was coming. With no way to avoid.

The empty bed near him made his morale sink. This must be what Shaposhnikov suffered when they lost Zakharov.

  


‘Vitalik. Commander. I’m so sorry for being such… a weakling’ was his last thought process before his system shut down one more time. Along with the will to make himself less of a burden to his Orlan friend.

  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** So here we say goodbye to Minsk. He'll no longer appear in this series... but he might make a special appearance in a side story... some day.


End file.
